


Have you met lots of new people before (None like you)

by ImogenGotDrunk



Series: Fuck pride timestamps [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gavin is an asshole, Hank is Hank, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Gavin, M/M, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist Ending, RK900 has a motorbike, RK900 is not convinced, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, because why the hell not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenGotDrunk/pseuds/ImogenGotDrunk
Summary: With being deviant comes a new job, a string of messy emotions, and Gavin Reed. The last is by far the most intriguing._Fuck pridethrough RK900’s perspective.





	1. Relationship: Hostile

**Author's Note:**

> Title quote from Ex Machina

Captain Jeffrey Fowler, a superior officer within the DPD. His gaze is stern and direct; head tilted upwards to assess RK900 from across the desk. He maintains eye contact easily.

  
_**PROCESSING.........**_  
_**100%**_

**_> CAPTAIN FOWLER IS WELL-ADJUSTED TO LEADERSHIP<_ **

  
_**ADVISORY.........**_  
_**PROCEED WITH CAUTION**_

  
“Connor tells me you’re a specialised model,” the Captain says eventually, “same as him. You look fucking identical, so I’m inclined to believe it.”

RK900 offers him a small smile. The gesture feels a touch stiff, even after five months. He is still unused to expressing sentiments. Emotions are complex; even humans, who have always been aware of possessing them, struggle on occasion. He knows it will take time to acclimatise himself fully, but he believes that he is _finding his feet_ little by little.

One of Lieutenant Anderson’s peculiar expressions.

Captain Fowler’s measuring gaze skims over him, head to toe. RK900 remains calm where he stands. “So, what? You were a replacement?”

“An upgrade,” RK900 corrects, a little tersely. “I was designed to surpass the RK800 series in both skill and efficiency. Though I am thankful that CyberLife was subverted before my predecessor was decommissioned,” he adds, because he has learned that hearing an android express compassion serves as a degree of comfort to most humans, particularly since the revolution. “I understand that RK800 has been a valuable addition to the precinct.”

The Captain grunts in accord. “Connor’s a good kid, and a good cop.”

His tone is disregarding; a stark contrast to his generous words. It seems the Captain is equally uncomfortable in voicing sentiments aloud. Perhaps it will be easier to win him over than RK900 had originally thought.

“He’s also told me,” Fowler continues, “that you’ve been through your software override, after Markus’s people found you at the Tower. Said your original programming’s gone now. You’re deviant. Is that right?”

RK900 inclines his head. “Indeed, Captain.”

His awakening had been an odd day, and one that RK900 does not look back on fondly. One moment he’s contently in stasis within CyberLife; his deviant hunting program quite operational and his systems at optimal capacity. The next, he’s experiencing an onslaught of pesky emotions, and staring, overawed and overwhelmed, into a pair of heterochrome eyes.

Markus has been an accommodating inductor into the world of deviancy, RK900 will admit, but he prefers to seek Connor’s advice these days. He has nothing against Markus himself, but his first meeting with the deviant leader has tainted their relationship somewhat irreversibly.

A rude awakening will do that, it seems. As will punching someone in the face.

“I’m at liberty to assist wherever and however I choose,” RK900 explains to Captain Fowler, swiftly stepping out of his thoughts. He takes another second to pause, however; processing, processing, until he decides that the time for frankness has come. “RK800 suggested I would be best suited to the DPD. I’m here to offer my assistance.”

Another grunt in response, and the Captain reclines back in his chair; arms folding over his chest. Closed-off posture. Sceptical expression. Perhaps opting for frankness had been a reckless decision…

“Well, that’s why I agreed to speak with you. It’s true we got a lot of android-related cases. Backlash from the revolution is still ongoing, and my people are overrun. But still…” Fowler’s hard gaze takes him in again; pensive, and clearly unconvinced by what he sees. “I can’t, on principle, just be takin’ in anyone my cops recommend. At the end of the day, I don’t know jack squat about you, no matter what Connor says.”

Pride, RK900 has heard, is a dangerous thing. The first of mankind’s sins according to Milton, a hindrance to one’s happiness when paired with prejudice, and the downfall of many an esteemed country and their leaders.

But the Captain’s unimpressed expression is damaging his, and there’s a small breach somewhere in his processors that snags and _snaps_ before he can rectify the issue and reign himself in.

**_  
REMINDER: SUPERIOR OFFICER_ **

_**ADVISORY.........**_  
_**REMAIN RESPECTFUL** _

**_  
PROCESSING........._______negativerA9________overA9riding_ **

   
_**OVERRIDING.........**  _  
_**100%** _

**_OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL_ **

  
RK900 allows himself another smile. This one feels far more natural than the first.

“I acknowledge your scepticism, Captain Fowler. Though I find it highly redundant and misplaced.” He savours the slow blink of the Captain’s eyes. Shock. Minor insult. _Good_. “From what I understand, the DPD is dire need of support. I’m the most advanced prototype CyberLife has created to date. I do not need RK800 to vouch for that,” he assures. “I speak for myself, and I say it is unwise to question my integrity.”

He watches Fowler. Watches his brows furrow and his mouth tighten at the corners.

RK900 decides to offer a compromise. It wouldn’t be an ideal outcome, but nothing seems to get done in the world of humans without a little compromise here and there.

“I will readily work under scrutiny. With a partner, if I must. But be aware, Captain, that I will not offer my services twice. Particularly not when you seem so quick to doubt them.” RK900 laces his hands behind his back. “I was not designed to fail. And I do not intend to.”

It’s silent. For seconds, there’s only the muffled activity of the bullpen beyond Fowler’s office.

And then the Captain starts to laugh.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: FOWLER, JEFFREY updating.........  
100%_**

**_> CAPTAIN<_ **

  
“Jesus, Connor was right. You’re as fuckin’ pig-headed as Hank,” Fowler says, still chuckling even after the contract has been signed and RK900 is shaking his hand. “You really don’t take any shit, do you.”

No, he does not. RK900 deems it best not to answer aloud, though. He presumes it wasn’t a question anyway.

“Actually, you know what,” the Captain continues. Slowly. Thoughtfully. “I think I got just the partner in mind.”

Fowler is studying him with a scheming glint in his eyes, and RK900 suddenly finds himself… concerned.

And the Captain’s self-satisfied grin decidedly doesn’t help. “Has Connor ever mentioned Gavin Reed?”

 

***

**_  
RELATIONSHIP: CONNOR (MODEL #RK800)_ **

**_> FRIEND<_ **

  
“I’m glad that the Captain came around to my recommendation.” Connor’s smiles are always broader, more practised, than RK900’s could ever hope to be. There are areas in which his predecessor far exceeds him, despite the 900 series’ advertised superiority. “This way you’ll be well occupied. I know I’d become restless without police work.”

“It _is_ what we were designed for,” RK900 agrees.

He’s examining the Lieutenant’s coffee mug while Connor refills it. The cup is white, with the motto **Fuck Sleep, Drink Coffee** printed in bold letters along the side. An interesting, if detrimental, philosophy to live by. It fits Lieutenant Anderson well.

“And it has been becoming… tiresome, with nothing to do. I know how much effort you put into convincing Captain Fowler to agree to see me,” RK900 begins. The acknowledgement feels a little stilted. But Connor has done him a service; it’s only right to voice his appreciation. “I must thank you.”

Connor shakes his head in reply, though his smile is still there. “My reasons are more selfish than you think. I’m glad you’ll be here,” he answers. “It’ll be comforting to have another android around.”

“Very few seem to share in your optimism.” RK900 turns his head, and from the break room, regards his new partner.

The Detective is hunched at his desk, scowling in the same manner he has been since the moment RK900 had set eyes on him. His posture is inexcusable, and there are scuff marks to the left of his terminal, where he’s no doubt rested his boots an abundance of times. RK900 can see him muttering irritably under his breath.

He has come to several conclusions since their meeting in the Captain’s office that morning. Detective Reed is hostile, temperamental, and highly unstrung. RK900 does not have the mind nor the patience to analyse _why_ Captain Fowler decided that he, of all the DPD’s officers, would be an effective partner.

“The news of our partnership seemed to cause the Detective a great deal of aggravation,” he says aloud, and Connor’s head perks up. RK900 has seen the Lieutenant’s Saint Bernard perform a similar action on occasion. “It was thoroughly amusing,” he continues wryly. “Not unlike watching a child throw a tantrum when they’re told to eat their vegetables.”

Connor’s LED cycles yellow as he processes the analogy. “Detective Reed doesn’t respond well to working with others.”

“Yes, I believed I’d figured that out for myself.” RK900 grants him a smile, however. He’s learned that facial expressions can be used to soften sarcasm, and he has no desire to intentionally insult a friend. “I assume that he’s always been opposed to androids?”

“Since I’ve known him,” Connor confirms.

“Familial influence? Or a past psychological trauma, perhaps?”

His predecessor shrugs; a one-shouldered and astoundingly human gesture. “I only know what Hank’s told me. But it makes sense that Detective Reed’s biases extend beyond _my_ coming here. He _has_ become less aggressive since the new laws were put in place, though,” Connor adds. RK900 assumes it’s meant as reassurance.

Reassurance is entirely needless. He is not affected in any manner by Detective Gavin Reed.

But a dilemma _is_ before him. A dilemma in the form of a volatile, hot-headed thirty-six-year-old. The Detective is easily provoked, that much is obvious. As is his aversion to androids. RK900 needs to apply caution if their partnership is to move forward smoothly. They have a case to solve, after all, and the RK series was not programmed to fail.

He decides a little cheating can’t go awry. Connor eyes him curiously while he scans the Detective’s desk from across the bullpen.

  
_**PROCESSING.........**_  
_**100%** _

  
Personal mementos appear scarce. There’s paperwork, a cell phone, a photograph taken in early 2023 of Detective Reed amongst eleven other officers. The day he graduated onto the force, clearly. His position in the precinct is important to him.

  
**_INFORMATION updating........._**  
**_100%_ **

**_> DETECTIVE REED VALUES HIS JOB<_ **

  
There’s also an empty mug next to his elbow. Strong traces of caffeine.

  
**_INFORMATION updating………  
100%_**

**_> DETECTIVE REED DRINKS COFFEE<_ **

  
It seems like a start. A safe way to break the ice.

He turns back to Connor, resolved. “How does he take his coffee?”

Not well, RK900 notes dryly, when the coffee in question is a messy puddle on the floor and the Detective is pinned down beside his terminal. All in all, it hasn’t been the smoothest of introductions. RK900 discloses this strictly to himself as he walks from the precinct.

  
_**RELATIONSHIP: REED, GAVIN updating.........**_  
_**100%** _

**_> HOSTILE<_ **

**  
“That didn’t go well.”** Connor’s apologetic voice sounds in his subliminal processor.

**“I believe you’re stating the obvious once again, RK800.”**

RK900 should perhaps work on his approach. Not that Detective Reed didn’t have it coming, but it may have been unwise to make such an antagonistic display in front of his new colleagues,

Though on second thought… he can feel the other officers’ eyes following him as he goes. There is not a disapproving gaze among them, barring the Detective’s.

At least he’s made an impression, then. And what’s more, Detective Reed now knows precisely who he’s dealing with. Not a complete failure. Perhaps this will prove more efficient than a friendlier approach.

Detective Reed, he surmises, is a _challenge_. And if the RK series was built for nothing else, it was to rise to a challenge.

 

***

 

Their visit to Lydia Groves’s house was enlightening, if nothing else. She is hiding something, that much is evident. Though precisely _what_ is still unclear, and it will undoubtedly remain so until they speak to the ex-husband or find the android responsible for the supposed attack.

The search warrant for Mr. Groves’s residence is still pending, and RK900 imagines it will be for a matter of weeks. It is admittedly frustrating, but unsurprising. The precinct, as Captain Fowler had rightly warned, _is_ overrun, and a search warrant for a suspected assault is far from priority when weighed against the number of more severe cases brought into the DPD.

RK900 is patient. Detective Reed is not.

He has the Detective’s jacket slung over one shoulder as he walks to the elevator. He’s joined as the doors open, and RK900 allows himself a small, self-satisfied smile. “There now,” and because he knows it will cause immense, delicious irritation, he holds the jacket out by the shoulders, ready to be slipped on, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Detective Reed snatches at it instead, shrugging it on as they ride the elevator down to street level. “This better be fuckin’ worth it. What kind of moron robs a store in broad fuckin’ daylight? Pricks got nothin’ better to do on a Wednesday afternoon these days? Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

The Detective’s curses are as frequent as Lieutenant Anderson’s. But they’re coarser. They have more bite behind them, more sincerity. The Lieutenant’s are familiar. Detective Reed’s are less irksome and more amusing than RK900 had anticipated.

“I suppose we’ll find out the full story once we we’re there,” RK900 replies calmly, walking out into the fresh air with Detective Reed still sneering at his side. They move around to the DPD’s parking lot, and the Detective throws himself in his car while RK900 slides into the passenger’s seat. “It’s a tech store, on Bates Street,” he clarifies. “Downtown.”

“I know where fuckin’ Bates Street is,” the Detective snaps as he starts the ignition and pulls out onto the road.

RK900 contentedly watches the streets and buildings pass them by, while Detective Reed remains tight-shouldered and scowling at the wheel. He is still not comfortable in RK900’s presence, it seems. And particularly not whilst driving.

His discomfort only appears to increase throughout the day, with the tech store manager proving to be a useless eyewitness, with their armed, juvenile thieves adding complications to the arrest, and with the reality that RK900 was built to outdo any human in the realm of physical fitness.

“You better back the hell off, you plastic fuck, I ain’t kidding.”

But something else has angered him; something on top of the delay to their warrant and the events of that specific afternoon. Perhaps it’s fact that RK900’s desk is the one opposite and connected to his own. The Detective does not like sharing.

  
_**INFORMATION updating.........**_  
_**100%** _

**_> DETECTIVE REED IS AN ONLY CHILD<_ **

  
Or maybe it’s due to a lack of caffeine. Or something even less substantial. RK900 has learned that any number of things can have an unfavourable effect on Detective Reed’s mood, and he has had little success in pinpointing exactly _what_ works to set his reluctant partner off each time.

He decides the safest option for now is to address the issue of their desks. “Since this is my assigned desk, Detective, I’m afraid that _backing off_ is out of the question. I’m certain you will be able to suffer my company for the time being, no matter how reluctant it may be to share in yours.”

“I told you to back off, motherfucker.”

The Detective is gritting his teeth, and RK900 finds his head tilting inquisitively at the human’s growing frustration… Detective Reed is unused to being spoken back to in such a manner, he concludes. It is something RK900 has perceived more and more in the past few days.

He is not proud to admit how frequently he has been exploiting this fact. It’s highly entertaining.

“I swear to fuckin’ God, if you don’t shut your mouth, you’re gonna be sorry.”

  
_**PROCESSING.........**_  
_**100%** _

**_Empty threat: A threat that is devoid of worth or meaning, one that cannot or was never intended to be carried out._ **

  
RK900 raises an eyebrow, amused. “Your reliance on empty threats is nothing short of terrifying, I assure you. Or it would be,” he amends, “if I believed you would ever dare to make good on them.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean? You tryin’ to be funny?”

“It means exactly what I said, Detective Reed. _Empty_ threats.”

“Try me, asshole, we’ll see how fuckin’ empty they are–”

“Curse at me all you like, but it will not change the fact that we have work to do. You have your terminal, I have mine. Now,” RK900 gestures calmly to the Detective’s desk. “Shall we?”

He hears his reluctant partner bite something out, most likely a curse; or a string of them, perhaps. But the Detective scowls at his terminal instead of at RK900, and so the android takes it as a victory.

He turns his attention back to his own screen, though he does not focus immediately on the case files. He finds himself studying the human across from him, and not for the first time since their introduction.

The Detective is a mystery. A living, breathing contradiction. He is abrasive, ill-tempered, and he does himself no favours amid his colleagues; he is either knowingly unpleasant, or brazenly indifferent. Officer Chen, and on occasion Lieutenant Anderson, seem to be the only exceptions to his persistently sour character.

His attitude is anything but desirable for an agreeable partnership. Detective Reed’s behaviour displays high degrees of apathy. He puts up an insensitive, uncaring façade.

But still, RK900 is unconvinced. There is vulnerability there; the Detective’s increased heartrate whilst driving to the scene of the robbery that afternoon, and his affront over RK900’s comments on his physical fitness, exposed insecurities that extend far beyond arrogance and a mere dislike of androids.

  
_**VITAL INFORMATION updating.........**_  
_**100%**_

**_> DETECTIVE REED IS MORE THAN HE SEEMS<_ **

  
And despite his coarse language and near-constant sneer, the Detective does not lack intelligence. His competence that afternoon at the tech store, as well as at Ms. Groves’s residence, was impressive; he was direct yet subtle in his questioning, observant at the scenes, and his breakdown of the case evidence has left RK900 optimistic.

Detective Reed is, at the very least, a _capable_ partner, if not an agreeable one. And RK900 has confessed himself to be… intrigued by him.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, tin can? You got somethin’ else to say? ‘Cause I ain’t interested.”

Intriguing, indeed. “You say you are not interested, Detective, and yet still you asked. Which is it?” Rk900 is fixing him with an expectant look, and he wonders if his partner can see any hint of the teasing enjoyment on his face. “Do you want to hear what I think? I’m afraid you are not making yourself clear–”

“It’s irony, asshole, and you fuckin’ know it. You’re so fuckin’ annoying,” the Detective snaps, before RK900 can continue his fun. The human’s eyes are flitting downwards, avoiding his gaze at all costs. “Like I’d give a shit what you think.”

  
_**PROCESSING………** _  
_**100%** _

**_> DETECTIVE REED IS LYING<_ **

  
“Indeed, Detective. My mistake.”

They make it another fifteen minutes in silence, focused on their respective screens, before RK900’s restraint wavers again.

“There’s a tear in your jacket,” he points out, quite innocently, and he keeps a straight face while the Detective glowers at him across their desks. “I did tell you there was no need to pursue me over the rooftops this afternoon, and now your clothes are suffering the consequences of your ignoring me.”

He’s impressed that the Detective’s cup doesn’t shatter under the force of his grip.

RK900 believes this partnership will be far more effective than he’d first expected. Or far more enjoyable, he amends to himself, at the very least.

 

***

**_  
RELATIONSHIP: ANDERSON, HANK_ **

**_> NEUTRAL<_ **

  
“So how you settlin’ in, kid?”

Lieutenant Anderson’s usual haunt, the ChickenFeed, has been strictly forbidden. The RK series excels in negotiation, after all, and RK800 has made significant progress in his mission to improve the Lieutenant’s diet.

However, Connor is not here today. And his presence is seemingly paramount when it comes to kerbing the Lieutenant’s lunchtime routine. RK900 would act, but Lieutenant Anderson has generously bidden him on this lunch date. Hence, as the invited party, he knows it would be rude to offer criticism as to their current establishment.

This does not prevent RK900 from directing a disapproving expression down at the Lieutenant’s meal of choice.

“Oh, quit raisin’ that eyebrow at me, terminator.” Lieutenant Anderson has an impressive knack for sounding both irritated and amused all at once. “It’s Connor’s day off, he ain’t here. I’m allowed a fuckin’ cheat day, all right.”

“I said nothing, Lieutenant.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that fuckin’ look.” He takes a large – and RK900 would dare say _stubborn_ – bite out of his burger. “Anyway, we ain’t here to talk about me. Seriously, how you finding everythin’? The DPD ain’t for the faint of heart,” he adds.

RK900 withers when mustard drips from the burger and onto the Lieutenant’s collar. “I was built to adapt to a variety of situations, including those–”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Lieutenant cuts him off while he’s still in the middle of chewing. “No, I know the start of a bullshit deflection when I hear one, do you remember who the fuck I live with? C’mon, you can be honest,” he says, and RK900 feels his own head tilt curiously when he’s granted a warm and genuine smile. “It’s why I brought you here, after all.”

 _Here_ is Mercury Burger and Bar in downtown Detroit. It’s early afternoon, and so the bistro is swarming, mostly with families or workers on their lunch breaks. It’s not the ChickenFeed, and so RK900 is able to convince himself that they aren’t _completely_ betraying Connor’s trust. At least this place doesn’t have their licence revoked for hygiene failures.

“So you brought me here to interrogate me,” he clarifies eventually, crossing his legs under the table.

“No, smartass,” the Lieutenant retorts. “I brought you here because you’re… well, you’re…” He sighs, and it may be a mistake, but he seems all of a sudden embarrassed. RK900 very rarely makes mistakes. “You’re Connor’s friend, all right? And I wanna, y’know…” The Lieutenant makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, as though RK900 is supposed to know what on Earth it means. “I wanna get to know his friends. Be involved and all that shit. It’s the least he deserves.”

“I see.”

  
**_VITAL INFORMATION updating........._**  
**_100%_ **

**_> CONNOR IS IN GOOD HANDS<_ **

  
RK900 has never questioned the nature of the Lieutenant and RK800’s relationship. He’s never had to. But knowing that his predecessor is cared for is a significant weight off his mind.

“Forgive my hostility, Lieutenant. I meant no disrespect.” Lieutenant Anderson had admitted something that was clearly difficult for him to do so. RK900 owes him the same courtesy, surely. “I am unused to humans taking an interest for the sake of interest. Most either have ulterior motives, or merely wish to undermine my existence.” He offers the Lieutenant a wry smile. “RK800 tells me you fit nicely into the second category, once upon a time.”

“Yeah,” the Lieutenant scoffs, “well, sue me. Things change.”

“Indeed.”

“I just want you to know you can… I don’t fuckin’ know, talk to me. If anyone tries anythin’. I remember when Connor first came here and, well, uh….” The Lieutenant looks sheepish. Ashamed. “I treated him like shit. I get how hard it can be for androids, before or after Markus, it doesn’t matter. So just… I’m here, all right? If you need anythin’.”

RK900 feels a strange constriction in his chest. Gratitude. He supposes it must be gratitude. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I will keep your offer in mind.”

An amiable silence falls over them, surrounded by the bistro’s drowned-out music, the chatter and shuffles of diners coming and going, and the bustle of the waiting staff. RK900 has rarely thought well of a human. They are his creators; once his employers, his imprisoners, his masters. And now humans and androids are simply existing together in an uneasy, fragile partnership. But as RK900 regards the man sat across from him, he decides that he could begin to like Hank Anderson.

“What I was really tryin’ to ask,” the Lieutenant continues once his burger is finished, “before you got all smart-mouthed on me, was how are you puttin’ up with Reed? It’s been, what, over a week now? Any sane son of a bitch would’ve bailed. I mean, I ain’t really worried about you,” he adds, “I saw the way you dealt with him that first day, and it was fuckin’ beautiful. Trust me, we’ve all been waitin’ for _someone_ to do it.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

Hank chuckles, picking at the fries scattered on his plate. “He can be a real shit. And it’s no secret that he ain’t fond of androids. And I know,” he pauses to bite a fry in half, “that you can handle yourself.

RK900 doesn’t mention that he’s been through rigorous simulations. He doesn’t mention that he was programmed – _trained_ , he supposes – to take on anything from a petty criminal to a heavily armed taskforce of agents, and win. The Lieutenant’s turn of phrase, that he can _handle himself_ , has a degree of dangerous simplicity to it. RK900 quite likes it.

“And I know it hasn’t been all that long,” Hank continues, oblivious to RK900’s inner musings. “But still,” he makes another vague gesture with his hand, “it’s Gavin, y’know. The local asshole.”

RK900 smiles again. “Your concern is appreciated, Lieutenant,” he assures, slightly endeared as Hank waves the thanks off. “But I can handle Detective Reed. While he can be volatile, he is a proficient officer,” he finds himself adding. “He was observant at Ms. Groves’s residence. Surprisingly so. And he has continued to prove his capability on the smaller cases we have been assigned.”

“Yeah, everyone’s always surprised when they find out he’s not a shitty cop. Think they make assumptions ‘bout the attitude and weigh it against the work ethic. Reed doesn’t do himself any favours there.”

RK900 hums. “A working relationship _has_ been proving difficult,” he confesses, “though less so than I’d originally predicted. I find the Detective’s company quite… stimulating.”

“Stimulating,” Hank scoffs. “Reed, stimulating? Jesus, never thought I’d hear _that_ of all fuckin’ things.”

“He is tolerable,” RK900 clarifies, though _tolerable_ does not seem to suitably define his interactions with Detective Reed. “I have no doubt that I can endure until the case is closed.”

The Lieutenant barks a laugh. “Well, I’ll drink to that.” He picks up his soda can, pushing the empty glass the waiter had given him over to RK900’s side of the table. “To enduring Gavin Reed.”

RK900’s third smile that afternoon comes easily; a pleasant impulse at each corner of his mouth. He clinks the glass against the Lieutenant’s can, and decides that Connor has chosen his partner rather well.

**_  
RELATIONSHIP: ANDERSON, HANK updating........._**

**_> WARM<_ **

  
***

 ** _  
_** Enduring becomes defending. He isn’t certain precisely what it is that pushes him to defend Detective Reed. Only that he feels he _must_.

Chris Miller is the Detective’s polar opposite in almost every regard. He is soft-spoken and good-natured. RK900 is certain he would never knowingly speak ill of another with the intent to harm them.

But there’s an unignorable, niggling overheat somewhere in his system, as RK900 listens to Officer Miller criticise their colleague. What Chris is saying is well-founded, yes, and the Detective himself does little to refute the negative opinions of others.

But the overheat starts flaring. **_Defend >> Defend >> Defend >>>_** And RK900 feels justified in pointing out the Detective’s less disagreeable qualities.

He knows Detective Reed is listening, of course. The man’s heat signature is around the corner, and it has become an increasingly familiar – increasingly _welcome_ – presence in the last two weeks. RK900 is not surprised to observe its growing distance once he and Chris move onto another topic, as the Detective retreats to his desk. In surprise or embarrassment, RK900 isn’t certain.

He considers returning to his own desk once Chris gets back to work, perhaps to offer the Detective an explanation for his actions. But he hears Officer Chen’s footsteps approaching the Detective’s terminal, and deems it polite not to interrupt. He keeps to the break room, and listens.

“Hey, Reed, I’m headin’ home. Thought I’d check in before I left.”

“Hm.”

“Where’s your partner, huh? What, you finally drive that plastic piece of shit away? Bout time, right? Still think Fowler had a brain seizure, thinking it was a good idea to put you two together–”

“Don’t call it that.”

RK900 feels an unexpected, disconcerting jolt in his system. As though something is flaring, fast and exhilarating, through his wires in place of his thirium. Interesting.

“What? Call who what?

“The android, don’t call it that.”

 “What, we decide on somethin’ better than piece of shit? Plastic asshole? Plastic prick? Plastic–”

“Chen, shut the fuck up. Just go home.”

The flare becomes warmer, rushes faster, and RK900’s answering smile is completely unintentional. Very interesting.

  
**_INFORMATION updating.........  
100%_**

**_> DETECTIVE REED HAS A SENSE OF HONOUR<_ **

  
The Detective didn’t go through with refilling his coffee. RK900 feels strongly resolved to try again.

“Detective Reed.”

The Detective’s posture tenses at the sound of his voice; shoulders stiff, fists clenched on the surface of the desk. “What the fuck do you want?”

“You skipped lunch.” And because RK900 can’t isolate the error in his software that seems directly linked to his self-discipline, he adds, “And caffeine seems to put you in a more agreeable mood. So for everyone’s sake, I thought I might as well take the liberty.”

The Detective eyes the cup warily for a second, then reaches to accept it. “Don’t expect a thank you,” he warns, as though RK900 would ever be brash enough to expect _that_. “Fuck off.”

RK900 returns to his desk, though he finds himself unable to give the reports on his terminal his full attention. The Detective’s glare softens, sip by sip, as the coffee is gradually drained; releasing the tension around his eyes. **_< < Grey eyes <<_** Though there is also the barest hint of green.

RK900 knows green eyes are rare; the result of a mild amount of pigmentation in the eye with a golden tint. A mere two percent of the world’s population, disregarding android specimens, possess them. RK900 decides that they suit the Detective for that reason alone. Most things about Detective Reed, he is learning, make him a rarity indeed.

RK900 reads a few paragraphs into the latest case report; a domestic disturbance along a street in the suburbs, before…

“Thanks.”

The coffee is finished, and Detective Reed is no longer avoiding his gaze.

RK900 studies him. There is apprehension in the Detective’s expression. Vulnerability. Fear of rejection. Fear of…

 _  
**PROCESSING.........** _ **  
_100%_**

  
Fear of being hurt.

RK900, no matter how much the realisation may come as a surprise to him, has no intention of allowing Gavin Reed to be hurt.

“You’re welcome, Detective.”

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: REED, GAVIN updating.........  
100%_**

**_> NEUTRAL<_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people were curious about R.K's POV in certain parts of the main story, so here it is: through the eyes of the smug bastard himself.


	2. Relationship: Friend

A mutual appreciation for derision.

It’s the description RK900 believes best fits their partnership, as of that specific afternoon.

Detective Reed no longer seems scorned or bitter or irritated by their exchanges. RK900 would even say he’s giving as good as he gets, though it’s a generous admission. RK900 was not designed to be surpassed in any area, and he includes teasing among them. Therefore, he holds his skills in slight superiority to the Detective’s.

“This is fuckin’ pushing it. Nearly three weeks waiting on a fucking search warrant.”

“Patience is a virtue, Detective,” he replies, intending to pacify whenever the subject of their pending warrant comes about. That annoyed crease is beginning to form between the Detective’s brows, and RK900 has learned that this never leads anywhere productive. “You’re lacking quite a few already, so that is one you cannot afford to squander.”

 **“You’re flirting,”** a voice accuses in his subliminal receiver, while Connor says aloud, “He has a point, Detective Reed.”

 **“I have no idea what you mean,”** RK900 replies mildly, while the Detective snarls 'get fucked' at his predecessor.

Connor ignores them both, and hands Lieutenant Anderson his coffee when he reaches the side of the bullpen. RK900 watches as their fingers brush together.

“You can get fucked, too, tin can.”

“Finish your coffee, Detective. It’s far easier to tolerate you when you do.”

This is a lie, of course. RK900 no longer _tolerates_ Detective Reed. He hasn’t tolerated him for quite some time now.

He likes his company.

He enjoys their conversations.

Both are unexpected developments, though not entirely unwelcome ones.

“Hey, you even got a name?”

The sudden question, too, is unexpected. And RK900 raises an eyebrow. “What do you call me to everybody else?”

“Asshole. Shitbird. Sometimes self-righteous prick.” Detective Reed goes on for several moments, but RK900 is distracted by the way his mouth moves as he talks. There’s always a slight crooked edge to the Detective’s smiles while he ridicules. The left corner always curves up more so than the right. It’s imperfect, yet… quite attractive.

“Seriously, though? No name at all? You gotta give me somethin’ else to go on besides asshole, shitbird and prick. That kind of language could get me suspended.”

RK900 chuckles. It’s an abrupt, accidental, and completely foreign sensation. It makes him feel unrestrained. Uncontrolled. He rather likes it.

“I’m sure the precinct will weep at your absence, should your suspension come about. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have no name,” he answers. “Only my model identification, RK900, and my serial number, 31–”

“R.K.” The two letters are spoken in a rush. Detective Reed appears to be embarrassed by the hurried suggestion, but he muddles through regardless. “R.K ain’t bad. It’s part of your ID, right? Like a nickname.”

  
**_PROCESSING………_**  
**_100%_**

**_Nickname: a familiar or affectionate name given to a person or thing, instead of or as well as the real name._ **

  
R.K absorbs his own surprise, and takes a few seconds to appreciate the unanticipated kindness of the Detective’s gesture. “That sounds agreeable.”

His smiles are coming easier day by day. He thinks he’s mastered them now. Perhaps a little too well, if the flush along Detective Reed’s neck is anything to draw from. The Detective’s elbow also seems to slip from the desk, unintentionally.

  
**_PROCESSING………  
100%_**

**_> ATTRACTION<_ **

  
R.K returns to his work, unable to completely shake the smile now that he knows the affect it can have. And now that he has a name, as well. It will be good to have a name, he thinks; to have a more approachable identity. He never would have thought he’d be using the words _Detective Reed_ and _approachable_ in relation to one another, but he has been wrong before. On very rare occasions.

After some minutes, the Detective poses another question. “What d’you call _me_ to everyone else, then?”

“I call you Detective Reed.” And because he knows exactly what will happen, adds, “Though I have changed your name in my central processor to ‘asshole’.”

The Detective chokes on his coffee, and R.K smiles on.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: REED, GAVIN updating………  
100%_**

**_> WARM<_ **

  
***

 _  
\-----------------------------_ Sunday 6th May, 2039 (PM)  _\-----------------------------_

 **Prick-900**  
_(16:08)_  
That miscommunication is the reason for the lawyer’s  
death and your fellow Officer’s injury, Detective.  
You saved the second lawyer and returned her, unharmed,  
to her family.

 _(16:09)_  
You must not overlook the good you were responsible  
for. Nor are you at fault for what you could not control.

 _(16:30)_  
I’ll leave you to the remainder of your Sunday. I apologise again  
for intruding in your personal matters.

  
To derive a phrase from Lieutenant Anderson, R.K believes he may have fucked up. Quite badly, in fact.

His last message to the Detective was sent at exactly four thirty PM. It is now six PM, and there has been no reply. Nor does there seem to be any likelihood of one.

His apartment is getting dark. The sun began to set an hour ago, and now its silhouette, a red halo disappearing behind the skyscrapers, has almost faded against the darkening sky. Poetic, he thinks, how it parallels his own LED. And R.K knows it’s red. He can feel it flickering at the crest of his brow; flashing in tandem with the unpleasant waves of regret thrumming through him, snaking in between his wires, and making something inside him feel heavy and exposed.

He should not have mentioned Greensway. He shouldn’t have pushed the Detective to keep talking about it. He realises that _now_ , not that the recognition of his own tactlessness will do anything to expel these, these… _pointless_ emotions.

He is not fond of regret.

And he most certainly did not want to hurt Detective Reed.

R.K finds himself sighing; a short, frustrated exhale through his nose, and he stoops to lean over the railings of his apartment’s balcony. **“Connor.”**

He rarely uses subliminal messaging from so far away. He prefers to text, but this conversation seems far better spoken. And he’d like to hear a comforting voice.

 **“You sound sad, Nine.”** Interesting. He supposes he _is_ sad, now that he considers it. Leave it to his predecessor to be so insightful. If only R.K was as proficient in these matters; perhaps this mess with the Detective would not have occurred. **“Is everything all right?”**

He isn’t certain how or where to begin. He had enjoyed communicating with Detective Reed that morning, despite the man’s clear irritation at being bothered on his day off. And then Agent Perkins had arrived, and R.K’s curiosity had become too much to bear. Hank had even thought to warn him about the FBI Agent’s little mind games, not that R.K had the sense to listen. It was evident now, that Perkins knew exactly what kind of fallout mentioning Greensway to the Detective would bring.

 **“I’ve made a mistake,”** R.K answers at long last. The confession stings – the RK900 series does _not_ make mistakes – but he doesn’t know what else his actions could be described as.

  
**_PROCESSING………_ **  
**_100%_ **

**_Mistake: an act or judgement that was unintentional, misguided or wrong._ **

**_  
_** R.K feels a chill; a cruel and unsettling sensation that no android should be able to experience. _The joys of deviancy_. **“And that mistake seems to have damaged the relationship between myself and Detective Reed. Perhaps irreparably.”**

**“What happened?”**

If Connor was physically here, they’d have the advantage of linking. Then R.K wouldn’t have to try and piece together a lucid explanation of events. He is unused to feeling so unsure.

 **“I inquired about a past case. One that Detective Reed’s conscience has not recovered from. I was unaware of this, and he has reacted unfavourably, and now I…”** He trails off, searching for his next words. _I what?_ He gives a slight and helpless shake of his head. **“I don’t know what to do.”**

There is a thoughtful pause; static fizzing across their shared wavelengths, before Connor speaks again. **“Have you apologised?”**

 **“I have... attempted it. Detective Reed has not responded.”** And that was the most troubling aspect of the situation. The Detective always has a response of some sort. But there has been nothing for hours. It’s disconcerting. And R.K feels lost.

 **“I think he’ll come around,”** Connor says. R.K raises a sceptical eyebrow, though he can’t restrain a pang of fondness for his predecessor’s optimism. It’s a reassurance. A hope, albeit a small one. **“Detective Reed is not forthcoming, when it comes to his emotions.”**

R.K _almost_ scoffs. **“That makes two of us,”** he points out, before noticing that some of his fingers are tapping against the balcony. No rhythm. Erratic.

  
**_PROCESSING………_ **  
**_100%_ **

**_Nervous tic: a compulsive, involuntary habit or movement, commonly the result of uncertainty or anxiety._ **

**_  
_**_Wonderful_. CyberLife skipped over that little detail, then. He’d be getting himself a coin next, if this kept on.

 **“It is quite relaxing.”** Connor’s voice cuts through his brooding, and R.K grimaces when he realises he’s not paying attention to his subliminal restrictions. **“It might stop you from panicking so much.”**

 **“I’m not panicking. I am merely…”** Confused? Concerned? Anxious? **“Considering how to move forward. Detective Reed and I are partners, after all. It would be detrimental to the case if our relationship was to remain strained because of this.”**

There’s another pause. Until… **“You must really like him.”**

R.K stills. Pursues a response, a deflection, some kind of… disregard. He finds nothing.

He _does_ like Detective Reed. It’s the plain and simple truth of the matter.

 **“I do.”** The concession comes, surprisingly, as a relief. Having someone else be aware of what he feels is… a comforting notion. And he trusts Connor implicitly. Perhaps dealing with this alone is unnecessary. **“Humans are difficult.”**

**“And there are few humans like Detective Reed to draw comparisons from, I’d imagine.”**

**“This is why I’m uncertain how to proceed. Perhaps if I could–”**

R.K cuts himself off as something alters in his receiver. He sends an apology to Connor, before bringing up the notification.

**_  
MESSAGES: GAVIN_ **

  
**_CONTACT NAME CHANGE: prick-900_ **  
**_to: R.K_ **

**_CHANGE CONFIRMED AT_** **_18:16_**

**  
“I… Never mind.”**

**“All good?”**

**“Yes.”** R.K examines the change for a few more seconds, and then lets his contented gaze wander out over the city. Perhaps he had been panicking, come to think of it. **“Yes, I believe so.”**

  
***

 _  
\-----------------------------_ Tuesday 8th May, 2039(AM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Gavin**  
_(11:55)_  
i’m grabbin lunch downtown

 _(11:56)_  
if you wanted to come

 _(11:56)_  
if not, its cool

 _(11:57)_  
I know you don’t really eat but

  
His meeting is drawing to a close, and R.K resists the urge to roll his eyes. Rolling one’s eyes is a _human_ impulse, and one that’s becoming more difficult to restrain as time goes on. However, Connor has assured him that exasperation is a positive sign. That it shows progress in R.K’s journey as a fully-fledged deviant.

And a majority of R.K’s exasperation, he has noticed, seems directly linked with Detective Reed. In this instance, the needless apprehension his messages are giving off.

Does R.K want to join him for lunch. As though the answer isn’t obvious.

  
**R.K**  
_(12:00)_  
I’ll meet you downstairs, Detective.

   
Ridiculous man.

  
***

  
“You realise that your jacket’s still torn.”

It earns him a slightly offended frown. “Yeah, and? Not offerin’ to fix it for me, are you?”

“I’m a highly specialised prototype, Detective. Not a seamstress.” Though RK900 finds the imagery of himself with a sewing kit quite amusing. “I doubt I possess the necessary data to deal with such a menial task.”

“Then shut the fuck up. Glorified toaster.” Detective Reed’s curse lacks its usual bite. “Lay the fuck of my wardrobe, yeah? Not like you can talk anyway, with that fuckin’ jacket.”

R.K inspects it. CyberLife issued, minimal colours, well-fitting. He doesn’t see the problem. He would point this out, but when Lieutenant Anderson returns from his lunch break, Detective Reed begins to smirk.

“But at least we ain’t as bad as Austin Powers over here. You tryin’ to blind the whole fuckin’ office, Anderson?”

“Very cute, Reed.” Hank drops down at his desk, and grants the Detective a severely unimpressed look. “You think that one up all on your own?”

Detective Reed flips him off, shrugging back in his chair to rest his boots up beside his terminal. RK900 takes in the colourful clash of blue, yellow and orange beneath Hank’s jacket.

“Has the Lieutenant always had such alarming taste in fashion?”

Detective Reed barks a laugh. “Ain’t that puttin’ it nicely. My first fuckin’ day on the force, I see this asshole walk in here with these cowboy boots. Fuckin’ _cowboy boots_! And this bright fuckin’ purple–”

“Reed, _Reed_ ,” Lieutenant Anderson hisses across the bullpen, cutting the Detective off. He’s looking towards the elevator, and his expression is… uncharacteristically concerned. “Heads up.”

Detective Reed follows his gaze, before his entire body grows stiff. “Shit,” he growls under his breath, turning very hastily away from the elevator and towards his monitor. “Shit, shit.”

There is an abrupt, _uncomfortable_ tension throughout the room, and R.K watches, curious, as the pizza delivery man makes his way further into the bullpen. He is ushered by Ben and Officer Person into the break room. R.K takes in as much as he can without invading the man’s privacy through a detailed scan.

Five-foot-nine, Asian American, brown hair dyed blonde, voice loud and forcibly cheery as he greets the officers.

R.K spares a glance at Detective Reed, who appears resolved to glare at his terminal, at the delivery man, and absolutely nowhere else. The evidence is only too telling. R.K swiftly pieces each clue together whilst his partner continues to stew opposite him.

Hank had recognised this newcomer, so he is evidently someone Detective Reed has been acquainted with in the past, and who also knew his colleagues to some degree. And judging from the particularly venomous looks the delivery man keeps aiming Detective Reed’s way, their acquaintance had not ended amicably.

The Detective, obstinate as he is, will not discuss this aloud. R.K is certain. So he employs the other option available.

 _  
\-----------------------------_ Wednesday 9th May, 2039(AM) - _\----------------------------_

 **R.K**  
_(11:23)_  
May I ask why you’re glaring at the young  
delivery man who just entered the precinct?

 **Gavin**  
_(11:24)_  
if I can ask why the hell you’re textin me  
when I’m literally sitting across from you

 _(11:24)_  
weirdo

 **R.K**  
_(11:25)_  
It seems like something you’d rather not discuss  
aloud. I’m simply taking your penchants into  
consideration, Detective.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:26)_  
I weep with gratitude

 _(11:27)_  
and what kind of asshole uses the word penchants  
in a fucking text

  
  
R.K decides to give him some space. It’s worked before, after all. The answer he receives is a few minutes later is… displeasing.

  
**Gavin**  
_(11:31)_  
he’s an ex

  
**_PROCESSING………_  
_100%_**

**_Ex: a former lover, with whom a romantic relationship is no longer standing. A breakup may be the result of a mutual decision or less agreeable circumstances._ **

  
R.K scans the bastard.

Daniel Archer. Age thirty-one. No criminal record. An employee at Sicily’s Pizzeria. Dark brown eyes that keep flitting towards Detective Reed’s desk; sneering and self-satisfied. He’s running his mouth now, rather vulgarly in fact. And more than loud enough to be overheard by the Detective.

This is clearly deliberate.

Detective Reed claims not to be affected.

This is clearly a lie.

R.K should absolutely not get involved. This is not his business. This is an entirely private matter, and one he has no right to intrude into. He should stay precisely where he is.

  
**R.K**  
_(11.43)_  
Excuse me.

  
He snags the Detective’s coffee cup from the table as he stands. It’s half-empty and lukewarm now, left abandoned ever since Mr. Archer had entered the building.

Inside the break room, Ben shoots him a smile when he sees R.K approaching. Officer Person looks suitably uneasy, and instantly makes herself scarce.

Clever woman.

“Hey, R.K,” Ben says in greeting, and he gestures to Mr. Archer. “This is Danny, our lunch guy. Danny this is R.K. Gavin’s new partner.”

“Partner?” Mr. Archer scoffs, “Damn, who’d you piss off to land that position.” He’s looking R.K up and down, and while his expression is sceptical, perhaps belittling, his intimidation is evident in his posture; crossed arms, and he had visibly put space between them when R.K advanced. “Don’t envy you, buddy, android or not. Reckon no one else does, either.”

“Danny and uh, Detective Reed used to be a thing,” Ben clarifies, inelegantly, but his ever-cheerful smile endures the awkwardness. “Reed might’ve told you already. But you know what they say: all good things come to an end.”

“Hah! Right, sure,” Mr. Archer glances towards the Detective in question. “Good things,” he continues, voice intentionally, repulsively loud, “that’s funny, Ben. Like anythin’ good came outta that shitstorm of mistakes.”

The Detective’s shoulders visibly tense in the corner of his eye. R.K takes a step forward and pours the coffee over Mr. Archer’s head.

“Whoa, whoa– asshole, what the fuck!?” The man wrenches back, hands flailing to protect himself. Coffee is dripping from his hair, onto his shoulders; staining his shirt in dark little droplets, and R.K wishes the liquid had been a little hotter, but he’d had to make do. He absently hands the cup to a rather shell-shocked Ben, while Mr. Archer splutters in front of them. “You son of a bitch–”

He takes the man by the throat and thrusts him backwards, pinning him up against the fridge. Their faces are inches apart, and Mr. Archer is suddenly staring, wide-eyed and panicked, into R.K’s hard gaze. _Good_.

“Mr. Archer,” he begins calmly. “You’ve known the Detective longer, of course, so I cannot claim to speak for these past _mistakes_ ,” and R.K takes an absurd amount of pleasure in tightening his fingers, “you seem to delight in expressing your opinions towards. Yet, strangely enough, the only mistake of his I see is standing before me presently.”

There’s a chorus of gasped and gaping laughter from several of the other officers; stifled behind hands pressed to mouths. R.K distinctly hears Hank’s loud, unabashed snort amongst them.

“When I let you go,” he continues to his captive, “you will leave, and you will not return.” He leans closer, and keeps his voice menacingly quiet while he adds, “If I see you here again, I can assure you, you will not be leaving this building in the same state you entered.” He pulls back and grants Mr. Archer a pleasant smile. “Understand?”

He gets a frantic nod in answer. He drops Mr. Archer to his feet, and R.K straightens the cuffs of his sleeves as he watches the man flee the bullpen; leaving a scattered trail of coffee in his wake. Once the elevator doors close, the one to Fowler’s office barrels open, and the Captain’s head darts out.

“You,” he barks, levelling R.K with a thoroughly irritated look, “my office, ten minutes! Everyone else, get the hell back to work!”

The other officers scatter and return to their desks, and Fowler lets the door slam behind him.

R.K returns to the Detective, after making him a fresh cup of coffee in apology.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: REED, GAVIN updating………  
100%_**

**_> FRIEND<_ **

  
He makes it out of the Captain’s office intact, and with his first disciplinary.

By eight thirty, it’s dark as he and Detective Reed walk outside the station and onto the street; work done for the day and ready to head their separate ways.

“Hey,” the Detective jostles his shoulder a few seconds after the chilly evening air hits them. The man still has a slight grin playing at his mouth. “What you did earlier… that was really cool. I mean, you didn’t, uh… you didn’t have to, and I know you got into shit for it, y’know, but… yeah. It was cool.” He nudges R.K with his elbow again. It’s a gesture of affection, clearly, but it probably would have hurt a human. “Your first disciplinary, huh?”

“Indeed,” R.K says. He takes the corner of the street, deciding, as he has every evening for the past few weeks, to walk the Detective to his car. “Though as an officer of the law, I’m not certain it’s an achievement to be overly proud of.”

“You’re such a stickler. I’ve seen Fowler suspend people for less, so count your fuckin’ luck.” They reach the car, though Detective Reed makes no move to climb inside. He stills by the door, fidgeting with his keys. “I mean it, y’know. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“Dan’s a total dick, but he’s harmless. It doesn’t bother me.”

Liar. “I know.”

“Everyone’s got at least one shitty ex,” the Detective adds. “And if you don’t, then you’re probably it.” He spins his keys around his finger twice more, shifting from foot to foot. He wants to say something else, something more, it’s obvious. But R.K won’t dare push. He’s learned that pushing is not wise where Detective Reed is concerned. And eventually, the Detective makes to unlock his car. “Sure I can’t give you a ride? I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, but no. I enjoy the walk.”

“Suit yourself.” He opens the door and shrugs himself inside. “Night.”

“Goodnight, Detective.”

R.K walks back around the corner to the sound of Detective Reed’s car driving away. There’s a nagging, unsatisfying sense of _almost_ hanging over him all the way to his apartment, and he doesn’t quite know why it’s there or how to dispel it.

  
***

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: ANDERSON, HANK………_**

**_> FRIEND<_ **

“Terminator, you’re a new fuckin’ brand of idiot, you know that.” Hank is never subtle when he’s displeased. Normally, R.K would admire his straightforwardness. But in this instance, it is merely puzzling. “Thank you, but no? You enjoy the walk? Jesus, you’re worse than Connor.”

Admirably, Connor does not rise to this. He remains on the carpet, not sparing his partner even a glance as he continues rubbing the Saint Bernard’s ears. Sumo has his eyes closed in a blissed-out state of being, and R.K is sat neatly on the Lieutenant’s couch whilst Hank stands before him; beer in hand and a grumpy expression on his face

R.K meets his gaze mildly. “And what, Lieutenant, would you have recommended me to say instead?”

Hank gapes, arms open in a full-bodied gesture of exasperation. It would be rather amusing, if R.K weren’t so confused by it all. “Oh, I dunno, maybe ‘yeah, I’d love for you to drive me home, Gavin, that’s really fuckin’ nice of you. Maybe I’ll even invite you up for a drink, and then we won’t have to eye-fuck in the precinct anymore and give Lieutenant Anderson a fuckin’ aneurism every time he looks over at your desks?’ That might’ve fuckin’ worked.”

R.K hums. Places his offered but undrunk bottle of beer down on the coffee table beside the couch. Laces his hands together in his lap. Waits until Hank is halfway through a sip of his own drink. “So you believe Detective Reed desires me in a sexual manner?”

It is rewarding to watch beer spurt from the Lieutenant’s mouth. It is less so to watch Sumo shuffle over to try and lick it off the carpet.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Hank chokes out, trying to clear his throat.

“Yes, I believe that’s what he meant,” Connor confirms, attempting to herd the Saint Bernard away from the beer spill.

R.K hums again, considering. From what he has observed, Detective Reed is exclusively attracted to men. And he is attracted to R.K, certainly; the signs are all there. Dilated pupils, occasional flustering, lasting glances that span a little too long to be accidental. But the Detective has made no verbal validation of this, nor has he outwardly expressed a desire to take their relationship further than professional in the workplace, or further than friendly outside of it.

He voices this observation aloud. “I have little evidence to support your theory, Lieutenant. And as for yesterday evening,” he continues pointedly, “I was simply respecting the Detective’s boundaries when I declined his offer. My apartment is in the opposite direction, after all.” He hesitates, then adds, “And I have… pushed too far before, where Detective Reed is concerned. I would rather not repeat my mistakes, having learned from them previously.”

Connor grants him a sympathetic look, and even Hank’s expression softens a touch. “Perkins. Yeah, I remember. Slimy bastard.”

“Indeed.”

R.K pauses again, contemplating. The Lieutenant is Eight’s partner. More than that, he is his confidant, his support, and anything else that comes with having a lover. Hank is also R.K’s friend, though they are not quite as close as he and Connor …

But even so, R.K decides to take the risk. To trust him. It’s always beneficial to have dependable allies, where you can. And he has grown fond of the Lieutenant over the time he has known him.

“I’ve been hesitant to take any action that might damage my and Detective Reed’s present relationship,” he confides, and he’s not blind to the way Hank’s brows raise at the confession. R.K doesn’t blame his surprise; he knows he has been guarded when it comes to his own thoughts in the past. “I am… content, with the progress that has been made. And I have heard that rushing into something so quickly could cause… harm, in the long run.”

“Shit, ain’t you a romantic,” Hank mutters, but his tone is understanding. And R.K sees his gaze flit to Connor. “Suppose I get where you’re comin’ from, though. And I’d say you’re right, it ain’t smart to dive head first into somethin’ so serious so early on. Specially for… y’know,” he gestures vaguely to R.K, “androids and humans. Think we’re all still gettin’ the hang of this coexisting thing. And it’s only been, what, three weeks since you joined the precinct?”

“And two days,” Connor adds helpfully, accepting the offered belly when Sumo lugs himself onto his beck.

“And two days,” Hank chuckles as he grabs another beer from the fridge. He comes to slump back against the couch beside R.K, and he levels him with an amused look. “So, you and Reed, huh?  Never would’ve thought.” He wavers, frowns, and then shakes his head, “Actually, scratch that completely. You two knuckleheads are a match made in hell.”

R.K feels his eyes narrow in displeasure. That can’t be a good thing, surely.

But then Hank waves him off, smirking, “It’s a compliment, terminator, don’t worry. I’ve seen Reed when he’s around you. Guy thinks the sun shine outta your ass.”

Well, that sounds marginally better. _Marginally_. “I must confess, I am… fond of the Detective, as well. He is intriguing. And infuriating.”

Hank snickers, managing not to spill any beer this time around. “Yeah, those are some words for him, sure. You should’ve met him before the revolution. Jesus, was he an asshole!”

“He was rather unpleasant,” Connor agrees, needlessly. He and R.K have linked on many an occasion. R.K has already witnessed the Detective’s previous behaviour during Connor’s early days at the DPD.

“Let me tell you, he’s come a long fuckin’ way since then,” Hank says. “Maybe it was a reality check for him, seein’ all those poor fuckers rounded into camps, bein’ shot at on live TV.” The Lieutenant shakes his head, bitter, “Can’t imagine what would’ve happened if Markus hadn’t ordered the peace marches. What Warren would’ve done.”

“Things could have been a lot worse.” Connor hoists himself up onto the couch and settles against Hank’s side. The Lieutenant looks a little uncomfortable – they have company, after all – but R.K makes sure to keep his expression unchanged. He doesn’t want them to feel they have to hide purely for his benefit. And Eight always looks happier hen he’s near Hank like this. “I’m glad everything worked out the way it did. We might not have found you, otherwise, “Connor adds to R.K.

“And I might be hunting deviants as we speak. Although Markus would never had gotten that broken nose,” R.K muses, amusement in his tone. “I reacted badly when Mr. Manfred discovered me,” he clarifies to the Lieutenant. “But I am thankful he did. I rather like being with the DPD.”

“Hell, I like havin’ you there,” Hank scoffs. “First you throw Reed down on his desk. And no, I’m never forgetting that, by the way, wish I’d had a fuckin’ camera. And then yesterday you shove his asshole of an ex into the fridge. Life just keeps gettin’ sweeter.”

R.K knows he should not intrude. He knows his curiosity extends to a reach that could become harmful to the Detective. But Hank and Connor are Detective Reed’s friends, as well as his own. Perhaps, just this once, it will do no harm to pry. “Do you know why their relationship ended?”

“What, Reed and Danny?” Hank’s mouth twists into a grim line. “Shit, they were together for… what, nearly a year, somethin’ like that? Think it was gettin’ pretty damn serious, too. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were both assholes. Real nasty pieces of work,” the Lieutenant chuckles, and R.K is disposed to believe it. From what little he saw of Mr. Archer, he was anything but agreeable. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gavin that genuinely happy before. Danny seemed pretty fuckin’ perfect for him.”

Hank huffs a sigh when Sumo paws at his leg, and he shuffles along the couch to make room for the Saint Bernard. Not that it does much good; the canine is so large that by the time he clambers up, his rump is resting on Connor’s feet, his torso is slumped across Hank’s thighs, and his head is lolling on R.K’s knee. There is slobber all over his trousers.

“As for how they broke up,” Hank continues, patting Sumo absently as the dog begins to snore. “Let’s just say that they had… different ideas about what counted as cheating, and what didn’t.”

R.K feels something in his chest grow tight, and sink lower and lower into the pit of his stomach. If he wasn’t satisfied with the way he’d dealt with Mr. Archer before, he certainly was now. “He was unfaithful to the Detective.”

“Yeah,” Hank says bitterly, offering R.K a tight-lipped smile. “Few times, apparently. Reed’s a good detective, so he figured it out pretty quickly. Though if you really like someone, it’s strange some of the things you can force yourself to overlook. Think it all really messed him up,” he adds with a gruff sigh. “I don’t blame him, to be honest. Anyone’d feel fucked over after somethin’ like that. They’ve been split for about eight or nine months now.”

Not long before the outbreak of deviancy, R.K notes; when Connor had been sent to the DPD. It does not excuse the Detective’s early behaviour towards his predecessor, of course. Though perhaps it explains it to some degree. Humans do tend to take their more negative emotions out on others, without giving their actions much thought.

“Y’know, I’m not claiming to have any kind of rhyme or reason behind sayin’ this,” Hank begins, and R.K realises he’s being fixed with a rather stern look from the Lieutenant. “And Reed’s a stubborn prick, he can take care of himself. But if you and him do, y’know, get into somethin’ more serious, then just… don’t be an asshole, all right? I know he can be a shit most of the time, and he doesn’t exactly apologise for it. But the last thing the kid needs is another Danny.”

R.K blinks. The Lieutenant’s concern is, of course, completely needless. R.K will not allow harm to come to Detective Reed, particularly by his own doing. But it is heartening, to know that he isn’t the only one looking out for the Detective’s best interests. “Understood, Lieutenant.”

Hank searches his face. He must see that R.K is sincere, because he tips his bottle towards him, satisfied. “Well, all right then. Glad we’ve cleared that up.” He glimpses down at the sleeping Saint Bernard, and smirks. “You realise you gotta stay now, right? No way in hell you’re getting out from under that.”

R.K peers down, and withers. There is now a trail of slobber across his knee and along the sleeve of his jacket. He settles himself in for another night of the Detroit Gears, Hank’s loud laughter, and the overpowering scent of dog.

Though he does attempt a cry for help.

 _  
\-----------------------------_ Thursday 10th May, 2039(PM) - _\----------------------------_

  
**R.K**  
_(21:13)_  
Situation dire. Send aid.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:13)_  
whats up drama queen

 **R.K**  
_(21:14)_  
Large dog on lap. Request immediate evac.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:14)_  
lack of evidence an issue, sorry

 _(21:14)_  
gonna need proof

 **R.K**  
_(21:15)_  
>Image.jpg<

 **Gavin**  
_(21:15)_  
XD XD

 **R.K**  
_(21:15)_  
凸

  
***

  
Detective Reed is staring at him incredulously. “You’re seriously sayin’ you wanna break in?”

“Not at all.” R.K lays out what Hank might call ‘a bullshit explanation’, because in reality, yes, that is precisely what he’s suggesting. He can’t feel guilty about it either; not when Mr. Groves is continuing to be as uncooperative as he has for the past three weeks. R.K is finding it all quite fucking tedious by now, if he’s honest, and the sooner they’re inside, the more progress can finally be made. “I wouldn’t deem that _breaking in_ , Detective.”

“Knew you were a fuckin’ maniac.” R.K has identified this as a term of endearment, rather than the insult that it poses as. And he likes the way it sounds in the Detective’s tone of voice. “Well, what the fuck are you waitin’ for then? Get a move on.”

It takes R.K a moment to hack past the locks on Michael Groves’s front door. Once he has, they enter the building, and the Detective whistles, long and low, at the white and luxurious welcoming foyer.

R.K scans the room for heat signatures while Detective Reed peers around, but he finds nothing. The house is large, and of course the answer they’d received over the intercom means that their suspect is around here somewhere. However, they have no lead on the ST300, and R.K cannot scan for her. The day CyberLife develops an upgrade that will allow him to locate other androids as easily as he can humans will be a welcome day indeed.

“Anythin’?”

He gives a brief shake of his head, and Detective Reed mutters a curse, as clearly impatient as R.K himself is.

“Michael Groves,” the Detective calls, voice reverberating off the high ceilings. “You’ve purposefully hindered our investigation. We’re gonna have to do this the hard way and take you downtown.”

“Once we’ve searched the property for the ST300 cited in your ex-wife’s statement.” Something _clicks_ to R.K’s right, and there is movement; quiet, shifting, but it’s audible enough for him to grow wary. He scans again, but whatever it was is too far for him to reach. “This will be quite simple,” he continues, though he finds himself taking a careful step forward, placing himself nearer the Detective, “so long as you choose to cooperate from here on–”

R.K’s preconstruction kicks in the second Michael Groves pulls his gun. The man is around the corner, in one of the hallways leading deeper into the house; weapon in hand, finger pressing down on the trigger. R.K has zero point six seconds before he fires. His options are extremely limited.

Mr. Groves is obviously not proficient with a firearm; his hold on the weapon is messy, and his aim is clearly all left to chance. R.K could rush him; avoid the bullets – Mr. Groves has a maximum of three shots before R.K reaches him – and disarm the man with relative ease.

He could also avoid the first bullet, draw his own gun, and shoot before Mr. Groves can fire a second time; though they would, of course, lose one of their main suspects.

These are both sensible and viable options. The only snag is Detective Reed, who is very much in the gun’s trajectory.

**_  
SURVIVAL PROBABILITY_**

**_> 12%<_ **

  
R.K takes the bullet himself.

The feeling of it tearing into his shoulder is jarring, blinding for a moment, and his thirium is warm and foreign against his skin as it bursts and oozes free from the wound. But the Detective is safe behind him, breathing, heart still beating, and the relief of those facts makes the white-hot sensation of the bullet lodged inside him more than worth it.

Detective Reed doesn’t have the common sense to _stay_ behind him, of course. The Detective steps aside, directly back into the line of fire, and draws his own gun as Mr. Groves grows more and more emotionally unstable. R.K has already contacted the DPD by this time, although their main suspect, the ST300, comes out of hiding just in time to talk her architect down. Mr. Groves lowers his weapon, and sags to the floor as Detective Reed cuffs his hands.

Hank and Officer Miller arrive with several squad cars. Chris hurries over to where R.K has the android in his grip, while Hank moves towards the Detective and Mr. Groves.

“Shit, R.K,” Chris winces when he catches sight of the wound. “You good?”

“It’s nothing.” It is not nothing. The bullet is skewered deep, and it has twisted into his wires, and he can feel every warning of the damage blaring through his system. “If you could take her to the car?”

Chris gives him a nod, still plainly concerned, but he escorts the ST300 away without any argument.

And then Detective Reed is behind him, grasping his sleeve and pulling him forcibly around and asking disjointed questions, and R.K’s scans are out of control thanks to the bullet’s damage.

“Did it hit anything? R, did it fucking hit anythin'–”

“No. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Why’d you do that?”

  
**_PROC3SSING………_**  
_**10rA90000%**_

**_rapid heartbeat >>>shallow brA9thing>>5tuttering>>shaking>>>>>>_ **

  
“Why the fuck would you do that–”

“Detective, if I hadn’t–”

“What, you think I’m gonna thank you? _Fuck_ you! _Fuck you_ , you don’t get to do that shit, you could’ve–”

“Detective–”

“No, fuck you! _Fuck you_ , he shoulda shot you in the fuckin’ head–”

  
**_VITAL INFORMATION updating………_ **  
**_rA00009%_ **

**_**> D3TECTIVE REE**D SUFFERS F7OM PANIC A#TACKS<_ **

  
“–then I wouldn’t h-have to waste my fuckin’ breath tellin’ you what a fucking asshole you a-are–”

“ _Gavin_.” R.K turns him away from the room, reducing any stimuli to just the Detective and himself. The last thing he needs is to be overwhelmed any further. _“_ Focus on me, focus on your breathing. This will pass.”

And pass it does; gradually, and Detective Reed’s head sinks against his shoulder. R.K keeps a hold of his arms, his grip perhaps a little tighter than necessary. He does not like the way the man is trembling beneath his hands.

“I don’t fucking need you to protect me.”

  
**_ORDER IDENTIFIED  
>Do not pra9tect Detective Reed<_**

**_  
C0nfirming………____________________ **

**_  
Er7or^^_ **

**_> Conflictin9 priorities<_ **

  
R.K gives a jerky, stiff shake of his head. “Unfortunately, humans are not so easily fixed. The choice was simple, and I was happy to make it.”

“Then I don’t _want_ you to, asshole.”

  
**_ERROR^^_**

**_> CONFL1CTING PRIORITIES<_ **

  
Detective Reed pushes harder against him, pressing his forehead into R.K’s jacket. There are smudges of thirium around his face. “Don’t do it again.”

  
**_ORDER OVERa9IDING………  
100%_**

**_OVERRIDE SUCCES5FUL_ **

**_  
_** R.K doesn’t reply. Gavin’s hand is fisted in his jacket, and neither of them move for a long and quiet moment. The man’s hair is soft against his chin, and R.K presses his lips down into it.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: REED, GAVIN updating………  
100%_**

**_>???? <_ **

**_  
ERROR^^_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise I'll get around to answering some comments on the first chapter soon - I've just got some freelance stuff going on right now.
> 
> But I've read through them, and of course, they're all far too wonderful and far too generous, so thank you from the bottom of my cold and shrivelled little heart.


	3. Relationship: Lover

R.K is not convinced that Agent Perkins’s appearance at the DPD is a mere coincidence.

So he answers the summon to Captain Fowler’s office, all the while very conscious of the way Gavin’s words repeat themselves like a silent mantra in his head. _I want you to stay. I want you to stay._ An odd thing to say. What exactly would be convincing R.K to go anywhere else?

He finds his answer after coming to stand in front of Fowler’s desk, beside Agent Perkins himself. _I’m getting rather slow_ , R.K reprimands himself. It is now painfully obvious what has brought the man there, even without scanning the FBI application form folded neatly in his right hand.

“We’ve been following your work on the Groves case, among others over your time here. Impressive, I have to say.”

After the general pleasantries are done with, Agent Perkins keeps sliding his eyes languidly from R.K’s face down to his shoes. R.K has seen the Lieutenant perform the same gesture, whenever he sees a particularly calorific burger he isn’t allowed to have.

“You’d be a valuable asset to the Federal Agency. Obviously it’s what you were made for; field work, covert operations. A place in our little unit would suit you quite nicely.” Perkins’s face is schooled in more of a smirk than a smile. It is not dissimilar from Gavin’s, R.K derives, though it lacks any of the charm. “You know you’d do more good there with us. We’re more than anything the police force can offer you. You’ve been awake for, what, six, seven months now?”

His voice is more a preen; steeped in vanity, overconfidence. Arrogance. R.K has only ever despised a few select things in his existence – driving a car and Mr. Archer, for instance – but he decidedly places Agent Perkins’s voice among them

“You were made for more important work. Oh, no offence, Captain Fowler, of course,” Perkins adds, seemingly as an afterthought, but R.K suspects that both he and Fowler know how incredibly insincere the comment is. “I know your people do good work here at the DPD.”

Fowler’s weary and irritated expression remains. He’s been rubbing two fingers into his temples, soothing an apparently permanent headache, since R.K had entered the office and refused to take a seat.

“But, I mean, this place is no FBI, am I right? C’mon,” Agent Perkins goads, gaze shifting between R.K and the Captain, as though they’re all sharing in on some sort of joke. “A specialised prototype? Second-to-none, designed to be the perfect soldier? You already got Connor, what’s the reason in both of you here? Specially when one of you could be utilised in a more… effective environment. So,” and Perkins fixes R.K with an all-too expectant expression, “I think you know what the smart choice is here, huh? Sign the form.”

R.K observes the paper extended to him for a short, silent moment. He knows that to accept would limit both his independence and his personal integrity; two things that he values to the extreme. It was inexplicably kind of Gavin to warn him of this little meeting beforehand. He makes a note to thank him for it in due time.

R.K smiles, and his hands remain laced behind his back.

“Agent Perkins,” he begins, as the form hangs untouched in the air between them. “It’s a generous proposal, I’ll admit. But I don’t wish to spend the rest of my career with my balls tethered to a long leash held by a very short man.” He savours the general blend of insult and astonishment on Perkins’s face, before continuing. “Keep your offer and your form. And go fuck yourself.”

He leaves to the sight of Captain Fowler’s slight smile, and to the sound of Perkins’s livid protests behind the glass walls.

  
**_POSITION: MODEL #RK900 updating………_**  
**_100%_**

 **_Rank: DETECTIVE_ **  
**_Station: DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT_ **  
**_Status: *PERMANENT*_ **

**_  
_** He notices that Detective Reed is no longer at his desk. R.K takes in the abandoned work station. Jacket gone: he’s outside. Across the bullpen, Hank looks concerned and is snatching glances at the elevator: Gavin left hurriedly and without a word. Near the entrance, Officer Chen is peering with furrowed eyebrows down at her phone. She, too, appears concerned.

She and R.K have rarely spoken. And when they have, their conversations have been stilted; not quite hostile, but stiff enough for R.K to conclude that she does not think kindly of him. And there has been evident tension between her and Detective Reed since R.K’s arrival. He knows his presence there is very likely the cause, but it is not his business to pry into their personal matters.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: CHEN, TINA_**

**_> NEUTRAL<_ **

  
He is slightly grateful for the busyness of the precinct that morning. The general chatter around them may lessen the awkwardness of their exchange. “Officer Chen–”

She holds up a hand to stop him and doesn’t look up from her phone. “Yes, before you ask. I saw the drama queen. He went downstairs.”

Well, that was far easier than he’d expected. R.K inclines his head, “Thank you.”

Officer Chen glances up, giving him a once-over before returning her gaze to her phone. “Dick Perkins better be leaving soon, or I won’t be responsible for what happens. If the Lieutenant can punch that asshole and get away with it, then there’s nothin’ in hell stopping me from trying.”

“He’ll be leaving momentarily, I’m sure.” R.K peers over his shoulder, watching as Perkins spits something out at the Captain. Fowler looks ready to take him by the lapels and throw him out of the precinct himself. “Though whether he leaves through the door or through one of the windows, I cannot say.”

Officer Chen follows his gaze, and blinks in surprise when she sees Perkins raging beyond the glass walls. “Well, from the Cap’s expression, my bet’s on the windows. What the fuck did you say to him, Iron Giant? His face is so red.”

“Agent Perkins offered me a position with the FBI. I refused.”

Officer Chen’s eyebrows meet her hairline. “A job offer? With the FBI? And you said _no_?” She huffs, incredulous, “Ben’s right, you really are crazy. Jesus, I can’t believe those Fed bastards are after our own people now. They can fuck right off.”

“He only seemed to be after me, specifically,” R.K clarifies, “and as you do not consider androids among your officers, I doubt you have anything to fear.” Perhaps it’s a low blow, but Officer Chen has never shown any signs of this attitude being untrue, and he wants to find move on and find the Detective, so he brushes past her and–

“Hey. Hey, wait.”

R.K pauses, and turns back to face her.

Officer Chen is storing her phone in her back pocket, and she’s drawn her lip between her teeth. A nervous gesture. But she is seemingly determined to continue. “Y’know, a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have minded seeing the back of you. And no, this isn’t an apology, before you start thinking it is.”

R.K raises an eyebrow, and decides that sarcasm never seems to go amiss among the Detective’s colleagues. “I wouldn’t dare to think so, Officer Chen.”

“Good.” A small smile quirks at the corner of her mouth, though she clearly tries to battle it. “Look, I suppose what I’m saying is, you’re not _all_ bad. You don’t seem it, anyway. Not that I’ve really seen all that much of you, and I know that’s kind of my fault, but...” She trails off. Shrugs. “But yeah. And you’re kinda cute. Maybe. I guess. Not as cute as Connor, but.”

  
**_PROCESSING………  
100%_**

 _**> SELF-CONSCIOUS<** _  
_**> TEASING<** _  
_**> FRIENDLY<** _

  
R.K blinks, surprised by her far more amiable attitude. But he finds himself pleased, as well. “I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, don’t be,” she chuckles, “I have really shitty taste in guys, so I wouldn’t take it as a compliment.” There’s a slight pause, and then she sighs; runs a hand through her hair and shrugs it out of her jacket collar. “OK, look, I’m gonna be real with you for a second. You make him really happy, y’know. I mean, it’s not a fucking secret. Everyone ‘round here can see it.”

Officer Chen’s tone has taken on an earnest edge; one that R.K is not about to make light of. Especially considering that Gavin is clearly the focal point of this discussion now.

“Like, you make him stupidly fucking happy. I’ve honestly never seen him like this, and I’ve known that dickwad since we joined the academy. So I suppose I’m glad you’re staying. For _that_ reason, if nothing else.” She sighs again, and tries her best to keep her gaze steady with R.K’s. He makes sure to soften his expression a little to accommodate. This is clearly important to her. “He’s still my best bud, y’know, even though we’ve been… off lately. And I want him to be happy, and he’s happy with you, so… yeah. I guess I wanna try harder. With you. If you’re staying. And if you want.”

Officer Chen takes her duties as Gavin’s friend very seriously, it seems. R.K can do nothing but respect that. “Detective Reed is fortunate,” he answers sincerely, “to have a friend such as yourself.”

She smiles properly this time, and proudly. There are matching dimples on her cheeks, and R.K has a brash and abrupt surge of certainty that he could grow to like this woman very much indeed. “Tell him how lucky he is then, won’t you. The stubborn dumby hasn’t spoken to me in person for weeks.”

“I’ll be sure to set him straight.”

Tina snorts. “Oh, good luck with that, Iron Giant. There’s nothing straight about that kid.” She grants him a final, sweet smile, and jerks her head towards the elevator. “Get goin’, then. He’ll be sulking downstairs somewhere.”

When R.K passes her by this time, Officer Chen throws a light punch against his arm.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: CHEN, TINA updating………  
100%_**

**_> WARM<_ **

  
***

  
_\-----------------------------_ Thursday 25th May, 2039(PM) - _\----------------------------_

 **Gavin**  
_(20:48)_  
fowler should get you a nameplate

 _(20:48)  
_ for your desk

 _(20:49)  
_ now that your staying

 **R.K**  
_(20:50)_  
*you’re

 **Gavin**  
_(20:51)_  
fuck you

 **R.K**  
_(20:51)_  
A nice idea, Detective.

 _(20:51)_  
The nameplate.

 **Gavin**  
_(20:52)_  
yeah

 **R.K**  
_(20:53)_  
But which desk should I take?

 **Gavin**  
_(20:53)_  
seriously shitbird, fuck you

 **R.K**  
_(20:53)_  
My apologies.

 _(20:54)_  
I enjoy… what’s the term? Messing with you?

 **Gavin**  
_(20:54)_  
you damn well know that’s the term

 _(20:54)  
_ douchebag

 **R.K**  
_(20:55)_  
: )

 **Gavin**  
_(20:55)  
_ 凸

 **R.K**  
_(20:58)_  
All joking aside, Detective. I sincerely look  
forward to continuing working with you.

 _(20:58)_  
I couldn’t ask for a better partner.

  
There is no reply, and R.K doesn’t expect there will be.

He’s since learned that Gavin rarely responds in kind to compliments or sentiments. Another strangely endearing quality of his. R.K allows himself a smile instead, and returns to focusing on what Hank has to say.

“That motherfucker, Perkins,” the man’s grumbling, elbows on the dining room table. His fists are clenching and unclenching on the surface. “Shoulda broke his nose again.”

“Unnecessary, Lieutenant. A polite refusal was enough to deter him this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, polite refusal my ass.” Hank’s adopted what R.K has labelled his _approving smile_. “Reed told me that _you_ _told_ that prick to go fuck himself. Wish I’d been lookin’ over at the office. Damn it, I’d have loved to see the look on that smug asshole’s face.”

R.K’s modesty wavers a little at that. “It was rather gratifying. As was punching him, I’d imagine.”

“Fuckin’ A, it was.” Hank snags Connor’s arm as he passes by the table, and tugs him down into the chair beside him. “Enough cleanin’ up, Connor, c’mon. Sit down.” The Lieutenant’s DPD hoodie swamps Connor’s form, and R.K tries not to smile when their hands remained joined underneath the table. “Well, punched or _politely refused_ , it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. We’re glad you’ll be stickin’ around, terminator.”

Connor beams at him in agreement, and not for the first time, R.K finds it odd that so many people remark on them looking alike. He can’t imagine such a bright expression on his own face.

“Thank you, both,” R.K answers sincerely. He even gives Sumo’s ear a scratch when the Saint Bernard rests his head on his thigh. “I’m glad to be staying, as well. Although I am curious,” he adds, “what my role with the FBI would have involved, had I accepted.”

“Agent Perkins’s bloodhound, I’d imagine,” Connor answers, at the same moment the Lieutenant says, “Perkins’s bitch.”

Eight grants his partner a withering expression, and the two dissolve into what R.K has come to recognise as _harmless bickering_. He excuses himself from the table – not that he is heard – when an unexpected message from the Detective comes through.

  
**Gavin**  
_(21:04)_  
me neither

 _(21:04)_  
to the partner thing

 _(21:04)_  
you’re all right

  
R.K shakes his head as the Saint Bernard pads over to him. “It seems I still have my work cut out with Detective Reed, Sumo,” he remarks. “How do you recommend I proceed?”

“ _Rrruff_.”

“Hm. Of course. You make a good point,” R.K concedes, patting the canine’s head in thanks. “I did promise not to push where the Detective is concerned.”

Though R.K’s thoughts are brought to that moment in the spare interrogation room. To Connor, easing the bullet from between his wires; the red flare of warnings beginning to fade from his vision. Connor had left them to find something to use in searing R.K’s casing back together. R.K was alone with Detective Reed’s concerned glare and the agitated bouncing of his knee.

Gavin had placed a hand on his chest, palm warm against his broken and blood-stained skin, and R.K had imagined kissing him.

He’d preconstructed it in countless ways. His fingers under Gavin’s chin, tilting his head upwards. Hand curling around the back of his neck, into his hair to pull him forward. Cupping his jaw, feeling his stubble over his palms, running his thumbs over the edges of his lips. Soft, chaste. But some of them were rough, desperate; feeding the tension and the concern and the anxiety they’d both suffered that afternoon.

Detective Reed had felt it too. R.K had been far from unobservant.

  
**_PROBABILITY_**

**_> 96%<_ **

  
Gavin would have closed the distance between them. He would have. But the Detective had retreated when Connor returned, swift and defensive, and R.K had to remind himself that he wouldn’t push. It had been an intense afternoon; he knows that fear and adrenaline can affect humans any number of ways. It may have been a simple lapse in control.

He will not push Detective Reed if he is not ready.

 **“I’m sorry.”** Connor’s voice filters through from his place at the dining table. R.K is evidently not paying attention to his cerebral restrictions again, and Eight sounds mortified, and shamefaced, and guilty when he realises his involvement yesterday, and R.K does not like these emotions in his friend’s voice at all. **“Nine, I really–”**

 **“Don’t be sorry,”** R.K answers, making sure that Connor can see his slight smile from across the room. **“It’s all right.”**

And it truly is.

He thinks of the Detective, opposite him at his desk two days before. There had still been a smudge of thirium along one finger where he held his pen, and there were traces of stress and strain from that afternoon at Michael Groves’s house all over his face; lips chapped where he’d been biting at them, deep and bruise-like shadows under his eyes.

It was all imperfect. And yet he was somehow perfect at the same time. It makes no sense. But R.K is beginning to understand that being human doesn’t make sense most of the time, anyway.

Detective Reed’s presence is enough for now, he thinks; fingers threading through Sumo’s fur as the Saint Bernard nudges against his leg.

R.K is patient. Gavin’s presence is more than enough for now.

  
***

  
It is still enough, two months on. But as of late, R.K’s patience has been running rather fucking thin.

He holds the door to the Axis lounge open for Detective Reed. The man glances at R.K’s shirt as he brushes past, and he’s on edge. R.K supposes it’s only natural to be on edge in this situation. The DPD have been after this group of dealers for several weeks, and Officer Wilson’s arrest record is resting on their success tonight. He’s up for a promotion, so R.K wishes nothing but a victory for him, and he’ll do everything in his capabilities to be of service.

But Gavin’s denial is beginning to become bothersome. It is a much unneeded distraction.

The Detective’s leather jacket is decidedly not helping matters, either. R.K hasn’t seen him sporting it before, and unlike his usual attire, it’s neither torn nor scruffy. The material is smooth, sleek, and R.K has the ridiculous image of Gavin on his Diavel – which, of course, the Detective still has no idea he owns. He knows the man would want to drive the damn thing, and as he’s familiar with Gavin’s short-tempered and unruly track record, R.K is not entirely convinced that the poor motorcycle would survive.

But all the same, the image of him straddling it in that blasted jacket is still there.

R.K approaches the bar while Detective Reed stays behind to speak with Officer Wilson and Officer Brown. The bartender gives him a friendly smile while she shakes a cocktail mix in hand. “I’m White. What can I do for ya?”

  
**_SCANNING………  
100%_**

**_SCAN COMPLETE_ **

  
**_“WHITE”_ **  
**_ROLAND, MAXINE_ **  
**_Born: 02/04/2014 // Mixologist_ **  
**_Criminal record: None_ **

**_  
ADVISORY........._**

**_PRONOUN ‘ THEM’_ **

**_  
_** “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the drinks here.”

“I can help you out with that. Just gimme two ticks.” Shooting a glance over R.K’s shoulder, White fixes him with another broad smile. “He yours? I saw you walk in with him. He’s cute.”

R.K doesn’t have to follow their gaze to know who they’re referring to. “Not mine yet, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I see. Hoping tonight’ll be the night, huh? You couldn’t have chosen a better place.”

“Indeed.” White seems like a very pleasant person, and R.K doesn’t enjoy lying to them. But he _is_ undercover, and he has determined that posing as a potential couple with Detective Reed makes the most sense in this scenario. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything with whisky, would you? I’m not a big drinker myself, but I know he’s fond of it.”

White thinks for a moment as they pass the finished cocktail to another patron. Then they snap their fingers, “How’s an old fashioned sound? Simple, scrummy. Can’t go wrong there.”

“I refer to your good judgement. Thank you.”

White works quickly, and slides the drink across the bar as soon as Detective Reed walks over. The old fashioned is half-finished while they talk, and when their suspects finally enter the lounge, R.K deems it wise to allow some time to pass before attempting to engage them.

When Gavin remarks on his dislike of drinking alone, R.K throws caution to the wind and takes a sip.

He cannot taste it, exactly. The alcohol registers on his tongue and he instinctively analyses the rest of the ingredients. But it is worth it, if only to watch the Detective’s eyes track his movements; to watch his gaze linger, longing and frustrated, when the glass touches R.K’s lips. _Good_.

A mild warning flares in his peripheral vision: **Potentially harmful substance. Proceed with caution.** And yet, “I do not mind indulging a little. If you’d rather not drink alone.”

He will not push. He _will not_. But the RK series’ tolerance was clearly not built to endure two months of _this_. Of stubborn detectives and their leather jackets and their apparent lack of self-awareness of any kind when it comes to matters of the heart.

R.K is reckless during the drug deal. Unrestrained. And he takes his own frustration out during the shootout in the lounge; _enjoys_ it, even. He shouldn’t have, nor should he be letting his emotions control him. It is highly unprofessional to find enjoyment in such a dangerous activity. But then again, he supposes it is hardly different from driving the Ducati over 100mph on the empty roads at night, or changing the TV channel whilst the Lieutenant is watching a live game.

The chaos in the lounge offers him a brief respite from Gavin’s ongoing refusal to acknowledge this… this… _thing_ between them.

Thing. R.K cannot grasp for a better fucking word than _thing_. This entire situation is destroying his intellect. This cannot possibly last much longer.

And if he’s being completely honest, it is less about not desiring to push, and more about pride at this point. R.K will not be the first to make his move. Gavin’s pig-headedness will not survive much longer.

They sit far too close during the ride back to the precinct, and Detective Reed _will_ act within the next few days. R.K is certain.

  
***

 _  
_ Emotions, he is constantly discovering, are the bane of his fucking existence.

R.K has been ready for this for weeks. Or at least, he thought he was ready. Now that it seems to be happening at last, he realises he’s perhaps not as prepared as he had given himself credit for.

 _  
\-----------------------------_ Friday 24th July, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Gavin**  
_(19:51)  
_ Come over here and watch it then

  
**“Connor.”** It’s probably the wisest course of action to seek a second opinion, purely for the fact that R.K’s excitement may be running away with him. His head is no longer entirely clear where Gavin is concerned. Love can be quite a detriment to one’s judgement. **“Would you be willing to lend your advice?”**

**“Of course. Is everything all right?”**

**“Yes. It’s a personal matter.”**

**“A personal matter. I see.”** There’s a brief, knowing pause on Connor’s end. And then, **“And how is Detective Reed this evening?”**

R.K sighs wearily. The entire RK series, he suspects, enjoys teasing. He’s even witnessed Markus tease on occasion, although the particular attention seems reserved for his blonde and red-haired companions.

R.K doesn’t rise to Eight’s blatantly mischievous question. He’s here for advice, and that’s what he intends to get. **“Detective Reed has asked me to join him at his apartment.”**

**“What are the conditions?”**

**“We are watching a movie.”**

There is another pause. R.K waits, somewhat patiently. **“That sounds like bullshit.”** And Connor’s use of curse words no longer takes him by surprise. Anyone would pick up such a habit, living with the Lieutenant. And he himself is hardly innocent. Gavin’s language is difficult not to imitate on occasion. **“You can’t possibly believe that.”**

**“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking for your advice.”**

Gavin’s request for his presence is evidently more complicated than it appears. Nothing is simple when it comes to Gavin Reed. R.K’s instincts are clawing at him to go, and the Detective’s behaviour in the Axis lounge was more than evidence enough of his attraction and desire to move forward. But still, R.K is…

  
**_PROCESSING………  
100%_**

**_> FEAR<_ **

  
Afraid. He is _afraid_ of moving forward, of moving to a place he will be unable to backtrack from. He has never been afraid of progress before. He was not designed to hesitate, to feel doubt. But here he is. Feeling a great many things that he was not programmed to feel.

**“I advise that you go.”**

**“You sound very sure of yourself.”**

**“I am.”**

**“ _You_ will not be the one to suffer the fallout, should this go wrong,” ** R.K points out, a little sharper than he means to. Apparently, he does not handle apprehension well at all. **“You can be sure _because_ you are not involved.”**

There is a patient, pointed silence, through which R.K schools his composure back in place.

 **“Not as involved as I,”** he amends gently. He knows that Eight has suffered his own doubts over such matters in the past; he’s had insight into his predecessor’s situation with the Lieutenant before their current relationship. And Connor, of course, had had no one to turn to for advice. R.K is lucky in this instance. **“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap.”**

 **“Have you accepted his invitation?”** Connor’s voice is soft, and ever so slightly amused. R.K knows his forgiveness is given.

 **“Not yet,”** he replies. **“I realise that it may be rash to do so. I feel… unprepared. And it is possible that I have… misread the evidence,”** R.K adds, and even to himself, he sounds despairing. **“I might be wrong.”**

He feels Connor’s sigh from across the city, and he knows, zero-point-two seconds before his friend speaks again, that he is about to be on the receiving end of Connor’s meticulous negotiation skills. **“You’re not wrong. As you have told me numerous times, you’ve been convinced for some time that Detective Reed desires a romantic relationship with you. And you well know that we were programmed to effectively analyse and adapt to all manner of situations.”**

This, R.K cannot argue with. He has the evidence. He has the motivations. He is being a coward. He most certainly wasn’t designed to be a coward.

**“Now stop fucking around, and _go_.”**

  
**R**  
_(19:54)_  
I’ll see you in 20 minutes

  
***

  
Gavin Reed kisses the same way he speaks. Passionately. Fervently. And demanding every inch of R.K’s attention as he pulls him into the bedroom. And he has it, of course he has it. He’s had it since Fowler first mentioned his name.

Gavin’s as impatient here as he is everywhere else, and R.K is surprised by how delighted this makes him; how gratifying it is to feel Gavin’s hands – _finally_ – scrambling at his shirt, fingers carding through his hair.

When they fall to the bed, everything is a white-hot rush for skin-on-skin, hands over hips, R.K’s tongue laving over Gavin’s bared neck. It’s all so different from Abigail. Abigail was _once_ , and she was lovely. She was funny and refined and intelligent and truly, truly lovely, but this… _this_. He can’t find words, and Gavin calls him _baby_ with his voice pitched low, and the word is ruined, and there are warnings flashing everywhere in R.K’s vision.

He dismisses them all; focuses on nothing but Gavin and the sounds he’s making as R.K’s mouth closes around him; the way his fingers are fisted into his hair and _pulling_ , the way his hips are writhing under his grip.

The warnings return when Gavin starts to hesitate, starts to question – completely on R.K’s account, as always. Selfless, _ridiculous_ man. But where Gavin falters, R.K takes charge. It’s how it’s been for three months, and it’s no different here.

Gavin swallows him down when R.K’s on his back on the bed, and nothing, _nothing_ , could have prepared him for this. For the heat of his tongue, the tightness of his throat, the way his fingertips dig into R.K’s hipbone as R.K thrusts between his lips. All R.K can do is grasp hard at Gavin’s hair, and all he can think is a litany of curses and Gavin’s name. He’s partially aware of gasping it aloud when his release comes, and his central processor is overheating, his vision becoming nothing but static, and he pulls Gavin up to move and thrust and come between his thighs just to try and ground himself.

It’s overwhelming. It’s addictive. R.K wants more. He’ll never stop wanting more

Even when Gavin’s boneless and exhausted, and R.K is pulling the covers up over him, he wants more. _Don’t push, don’t push, don’t push_. But it does not stop him from shifting behind him, pressing his lips against the back of Gavin’s neck, and he hopes it isn’t too intrusive. He hopes the man doesn’t mind the closeness. The last thing R.K wants after tonight is to return to keeping his distance.

It stands to reason, he supposes, that he is secure enough to go into stasis around Gavin and Gavin alone. He’s never trusted doing so around other company, even in the Lieutenant’s house. But he supposes that is the point of having a _partner_ ; mutual trust. Security. Having one another’s backs. And his system could use a rest, and Gavin is breathing steadily against him, and Mia is keeping watch on the windowsill as the broadcast tower begins to turn off its lights in the distance.

Everything is safe. R.K is content for the first time in weeks. He closes his eyes, and lets himself drift.

  
**_RELATIONSHIP: REED, GAVIN updating………  
100%_**

**_> LOVER<_ **

  
***

  
“Hmm. It seems the Deviant leader was more efficient in overriding your program than expected. This may take longer than we thought.”

Her smile does not meet her eyes, and she presses a blooming red rose into his hand.

“But we’ll get there, won’t we. It’s only a matter of time.”

  
***

  
R.K comes out of stasis disjointedly, and the first thing he focuses on are a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

_“Mrrow.”_

Mia is perched half on Gavin’s bare shoulder, tail rhythmically swatting the man’s hair. R.K’s arm is curled around Gavin’s waist beneath the covers, and the slow rise and fall of his chest tells him that the Detective is still asleep.

“I assume you’re after breakfast?” R.K receives a slow blink in response. Mia slinks her front paws down to the mattress, back legs still suspended on Gavin’s shoulder, and she rubs her head against R.K’s nose. His resolve to remain in bed withers at the feline’s obvious, yet charming, manipulation. “Lead the way, then.”

He quietly rises from the bed, and trails Mia to the kitchen, pulling the bedroom door ajar behind him. The cat is waiting beside one of the cupboards, ear twitching.

R.K finds the cat food directly on the shelf above her, and Mia hops down to the floor beside her dish when he cranks open one of the cans.

  
**_Brand: CASTOR AND POLLUX_ **  
**_Ingredients: CHICKEN FAT, CHICKEN LIVER,_ **  
**_ORGANIC SUNFLOWER, ORGANIC FLAXSEED,_ **  
**_DRIED CRANBERRIES_ **  
**_Price: $23.99_ **

  
**_INFORMATION updating………_ **  
**_100%_ **

**_> GAVIN TAKES GOOD CARE OF HIS CAT<_ **

  
Most likely better care than he takes of himself, if the barren state of his fridge is any indicator.

R.K fills the kettle whilst Mia eats, grabbing a clean mug – black with red writing, **wake the fuck up** , along the side – and searching around for the coffee. There is only enough left for two more cups at most. Gavin’s mood can barely hold up  _with_ regular caffeine fixes.

Although, R.K supposes as Mia stalks back to the bedroom, sex could offer as a rather reasonable distraction now that they had conquered that hurdle…

Coffee made and cat fed, R.K hears shuffling from the bedroom. He thought he’d been quieter.

He says as much to Gavin in apology, when he joins him on the bed. He’s gorgeous like this; hair ruffled from sleep, no clothes swamping his form. But, of course, the human has excuses and defences at the ready, and R.K listens to each and every one with patience that he has, and tolerance that he doesn’t. _People will talk. One-night stand. Humans are not worth the time of day_. R.K had thought last night had been enough to deter any doubts the Detective had. But Gavin is avoiding his gaze, shoulders hunched as though expecting a blow. As though expecting rejection.

Rejection is most certainly not coming, and most likely never will – for as long as Gavin will have him, at least. Humans do have alarmingly brief attention spans, after all, and they cycle through any number of romantic partners throughout their lifetimes. R.K does not particularly _like_ the thought, but as long as Gavin wants him now, then he will have him now. In any capacity and for however long he desires.

“I would change nothing about you. Because I know you would change nothing about me.”

Gavin seems soothed by his words. Though R.K had not intended to also upset him; he can feel Gavin’s unsteady breaths against his hand when he presses his lips to it, feel the tightness of his grip.

But he does not want R.K to leave. That much is evident.

So R.K remains there for the rest of the morning.

The morning then bleeds into the afternoon. They talk, they laugh, they fuck – Gavin has forbidden him from using the word _intercourse,_ because it, in the Detective’s words, _kills the mood_ – and they are still in bed when it starts to become dark, and seven PM is now approaching.

R.K has never spent such an unproductive Saturday before. But in these particular circumstances, he finds that he cannot mind.

Gavin holds Mia under her arms and above his head. “Bitch cat. I swear to God, you scratch me again and I’ll make you into a pair of shitty, two-dollar gloves. Don’t you look at me like that, I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

R.K smiles from beside him. He can’t help himself. Their legs are still tangled together, and there’s an irritated furrow between Gavin’s brows as he glares up at the cat. “I wonder how many times you’ve used that threat,” R.K murmurs against his shoulder.

“… too fuckin’ many,” Gavin sighs, lowering the feline back onto the mattress. She immediately crawls back onto Gavin’s stomach, and curls into a haughty ball. “Not that she ever fuckin’ listens, anyway.”

As though to prove her point, Mia’s claws knead into Gavin’s ribs.

“Ow– son of a _bitch_ , Mia,” Gavin shoos her away. “You know this is where half my fuckin’ scars come from?”

R.K feels a pang of fondness at the overreaction, and shuffles down to rest his head on the unscathed side of Gavin’s stomach. “I don’t think that’s quite true.” He pushes his lips to one such scar, raised and trailing down near the man’s hipbone. Knife wound. It was undoubtedly very painful.

He feels Gavin’s fingers sift lazily through his hair in response. “Yeah, yeah, maybe not. Still, cat packs a mean scratch.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Mia is the picture of innocence, now sprawled against R.K’s thigh and clearly indifferent to being discussed. She gives a long yawn, and R.K chuckles when Gavin’s stomach rumbles under his head. “You need to eat something.”

There’s a disinterested grunt from above. “‘m fine.”

“Gavin.”

“Don’t wanna move.”

“We have not moved all day,” he points out, though he can’t quite bring himself to sound disapproving of it. “And you haven’t eaten.”

“So?” Obstinate. Infuriating. R.K presses another kiss to his side, and Gavin shudders; tugs on R.K’s hair to pull him up and press their lips together instead. “Let’s just stay here till I die,” he mutters, pleads, against him. “Better than movin’.”

“ _Gavin_.” R.K must sound exasperated, because Gavin rolls them over until he is sprawled, much like his cat, over R.K, burying his face in his neck.

His gives an indignant huff, “ _Fine_. But I ain’t cookin’, and neither are you. If you even can,” he adds, and R.K hears his grin at the reminder of one of their conversations from last night; bleary among the heat and the urgency of everything else. “I’ll order somethin’ in.”

R.K relents, and gently pulls Gavin back against him when the man makes to sit up. “Let me. What would you like?”

“Hm. Anythin’,” Gavin hums, sounding thrilled with the prospect of not having to move. “Pizza. Anywhere but Sicily’s.”

Anywhere but Sicily’s, indeed. While the thought of having Mr. Archer delivering pizza to this particular scene – Gavin unclothed and in bed with an arguably better man – is appealing, in a sadistic sort of manner, R.K orders from Supino Pizza instead. Five star. Twenty-minute delivery guaranteed.

“I’m not payin’ you back.”

R.K kisses him. “I don’t expect you to.”

“And you’re answerin’ the fuckin’ door.”

Another kiss. “I am.”

“You’re gonna have to put on pants.” Gavin sounds despairing.

R.K makes a thoughtful sound. “Not necessarily. If I tip well enough, I doubt they’d comment on my state of undress.”

Gavin grins, one hand curving around R.K’s jaw, thumb brushing along the edge of it. “Maniac. I actually dare you to do it.”

“Very well. I shall.”

There’s a pause, and then Gavin breathes a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously?”

R.K makes a show of not even blinking. “Yes.”

Gavin laughs properly then, full-bodied and shoulders shaking, and Mia paws at his foot to check if anything’s wrong. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you, weirdo, you actually would. You got no fuckin’ shame?”

“I do not think androids were designed with shame in mind,” R.K muses, bending forward to scoop Mia up and away from Gavin’s leg when she becomes a little too liberal with her claws.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think CyberLife designed you to be able to do that fuckin’ thing with your tongue, either, so. We’re kind of in new territory here.”

R.K feels himself hesitate. Gavin becomes tense when he takes too long to respond, likely thinking he’s responsible for R.K’s silence. He isn’t, of course. R.K does not want to lie. “CyberLife did design me with certain capabilities. I was going to mention it, before, but I was… distracted.”

Gavin visibly relaxes, though that familiar concerned frown of his is becoming deeper. “How the fuck d’you mean?”

It isn’t only that he doesn’t want to lie, R.K realises. He does not want to hide anything from Gavin. “The RK series was built for field work. Infiltration, negotiation. Gaining information through any means we have at our disposal. Including certain… intimate situations, if they should occur.”

It is obvious, in the hanging silence, when the penny drops. When Gavin suddenly comprehends what he means. “So they– _fuck_ , they– they designed you to know how to– in case you needed to get information and that was the only fuckin’ way?”

R.K feels something in him sink, uncharacteristically ashamed at the venom in Gavin’s voice. “Yes. I apologise if this–”

“No, fuckin’ _no_ ,” Gavin drags him in, shuts him up with a surprisingly desperate kiss, and speaks against his mouth, “Don’t you dare fuckin’ apologise. Those fuckin’ assholes, thinkin’ they can use you like–” He breaks off, forehead resting against R.K’s, and he sounds a little sheepish when he confesses, “I never even thought about that. I just thought you were… I dunno, a fast learner?”

R.K chuckles, curling closer against him. “Well, I am that as well. But I was programmed with prior knowledge of intimate activities–”

“Jesus, just say _fucking_ , you prude.”

R.K sighs. “Prior knowledge of _fucking_. So as not to arouse suspicion on any assignment that demanded the necessary skills.”

“Shit,” Gavin breathes, “what the fuck. What gives them the fuckin’ right. Didn’t anyone know about this? Try to stop it?”

“Androids were not considered living beings when I was designed,” R.K reminds him gently, though he cannot deny the warmth he feels at Gavin’s ardent defence. He cannot imagine this reaction three months ago. “I do not resent anything that they chose to instil in my programming. Although I am grateful that things have changed. That many humans’ _attitudes_ have changed towards us, where subjects such as these are concerned.”

Another, less apprehensive silence spans between them then, Gavin mouthing softly over R.K’s jaw, and R.K’s hands trailing the faded scars and bruises on his shoulders. “I was a fuckin’ mess during the revolution, y’know.”

R.K considers meeting his gaze, but he feels how Gavin’s muscles have grown stiff beneath his hands, and his head remains firmly pushed into dip of R.K’s collarbone. He is confessing something; something difficult for him to do so. R.K stays silent, and lets him speak as he will. He will not push.

“I never used to fuckin’ care. You probably guessed that already. But when they started shootin’, and all those androids were unarmed, I just…” R.K feels him shake his head slightly, “Then they were roundin’ them all into camps like fuckin’ Nazis, and I… it was just…”

“Eye-opening?”

Gavin scoffs, though the sound is heavy, shaken. “Yeah. Sure. Eye-opening.” Another pause, and then, “Cried my fuckin’ eyes out when Warren ordered the stand down. I was drunk outta my skull,” he offers as a defence, laughing weakly at himself, but he also sounds proud for the confession. R.K doubts he’s ever admitted this much to anyone else. Perhaps not even to Tina. “But yeah. Started tryin’ a little harder with Connor after that. Figuring you guys were… actually alive and all.”

Mia rubs her head against Gavin’s hair, and the man scoops her closer, until she’s curled in the crook of his arm.

“Glad we didn’t meet back then,” Gavin continues, giving another, self-depreciating laugh, “You wouldn’t have liked me. Well, not that you liked me much to fuckin’ with start anyway, which I get. I mean, we weren’t the most–”

“I adore you, Gavin Reed.” Ridiculous, _ridiculous_ man. He should know this by now. “I believe I always have. As I said before, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Mia’s purring between them, and Gavin’s become far too still in his arms, as though he’s afraid to move lest something suddenly changes. R.K’s fingers moving over the side of his neck seems to jolt him back to reality, and he clears his throat, pushing closer against R.K’s chest. “Cool.”

Utterly ridiculous.

When the pizza arrives, R.K foregoes retrieving his clothes and makes good on the Detective’s dare. Gavin’s laughter filters in from the bedroom, and R.K pays the poor delivery man a generous tip in apology for the awkwardness. Gavin eats in bed, spills sauce on the already spoiled sheets, and feeds Mia some toppings when she stops trying to snatch them.

They have work on Monday. R.K’s Ducati is parked outside on the side of the road. He has no spare or clean clothes in Gavin’s apartment. He should return home, and prepare for the remaining case files they have for Lydia Groves’s prosecution. He should check in with Connor to let him know how the evening went. He should not stay here, considering everything else he has to do.

Gavin asks him to stay until Sunday.

He stays until Monday, instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, for those who recognised it - the 'long leash, short man' line is from The Man From Uncle. Good film, Henry Cavil, Armie Hammer, Alicia Vikander, highly recommend.
> 
> Sorry for the slow update as well, I got a copywriting job and it's full on. Hope this last chapter was worth the wait all the same.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone, I'm seriously undeserving of all of you guys and your awesomeness.  
> I'll be replying to comments ASAP <3


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